


Fire And Ice

by Eirenei



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Romance, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-02
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-13 09:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 74,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/502017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eirenei/pseuds/Eirenei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji or Harry Potter. Contrarily, I do own this little story. 
> 
> Shout Out : As promised, I picked up the plot bunny to give it some more tender loving care /sarcastically/ Hopefully, my effort will not be in vain, but oh well /shrugs/ Enjoy the story.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of torture, mutilated bodies, stupid Wizarding World in general, and, oh, I don't know, SLASH, meaning Sebastian/Harry (Antares)/Claude? /sarcastic/. And if anyone is curious just why that story differs from the one shot in Scrapbook Jewels, it is because I intend to write out the whole nine yards – meaning, from the beginning to the end. The pre – written little tidbit will be included sometime in the later chapters.

 

* * *

_Some say the world will end in fire_

_Some say in ice,_

_From what I know of desire_

_I hold with those, who favour fire_

_But if the world had to perish twice_

_I think I know enough of hate_

_That for destruction, ice_

_Is also great –_

_And would suffice_

(By Robert Frost, _Fire and Ice)_

* * *

Bored. Bored, bored, _bored._ At this rate he would be sooner killed by sheer boredom than anything else.

He had amused himself with immersing within mortals, for the time, he watched, and participated in their antics they called their lives. Being a... butler, was a fine occupation – he was privy to his prey's secrets and he could tease and frustrate them, until he got bored, or his... meal was sufficiently prepared, and then, he killed them.

Immortality was _such_ a bitch sometimes...

Having so much time on his hands wasn't a good thing.

He pouted. Besides, there wasn't any contract – worthy humans around lately. Sure, Earth had flourished with technology and depravity and... evil, if you cared to use such a tasteless word, but _still!_

"I think you spoiled me, _Bocchan,_ " He muttered out with his cultured, and yet still somewhat playful voice. Nobody answered him. He didn't expect them to. For the life of a demon was a lonely existence, and that was just one more reason to mingle with mortals.

Red eyes looked at the ornate ring on his finger – a memento from his last...

Master.

Ciel Phantomhive.

A brat with revenge streak miles wide and a tactician mind not many could brag they defeated. A Queen's dog and Sebastian's toy for amusement.

He loved to irk the boy - Ciel was just too adorable when he was helplessly fuming over Sebastian's last shenanigans.

He almost regretted when the time for them to part had came. In fact, Sebastian would have loved to find out just what kind of a demon his little Master would have been – but even he wasn't so stupid as to break that cardinal rule.

Besides, Ciel's soul indeed tasted delicious. Innocent and depraved, burning hot with revenge and freezing cold with satisfaction. Nobody – and nothing – could compare to Ciel. Sebastian sighed. In such moments, he missed his Master - his quirky behaviour, his stubbornness and penchant for anything and everything sweet – Hell, he even missed the three stooges that had been his co – servants at the Phantomhive Manor.

However, they were dead now – for a long time, and the only one who remembered them, was Sebastian.

' _Ahh, those were times...'_ Sebastian sighed, half in contentment, half in longing for new adventures. He would welcome even Grell, the idiot he was, although he shuddered to think just what would the overzealous Shinigami with penchant for red and saws do to him if he ever found him. That nickname - Sebas – chan – was a bane of Sebastian's existence, and he would. _Never. Ever._ Forgive the imbecile for uttering it in front of that spider butler, Faustus.

Speaking of Faustus, what was he doing? Last Sebastian heard of him was five hundred years ago, when they both devoured their chosen preys, Alois and Ciel. The slender demon couldn't help but smirk at the memory of the spider butler's longing and jealous face as he was devouring his little Master. First come first serve, and all that jazz. Despite Faustus' machinations, Ciel still remembered his original contractor, and chose to honour the bargain, like any true blue-blooded Englishman would.

It was a touching moment, and for Sebastian one of the winning ones. Any time he could get one over the damned blue butler was a good time. And so it was even more humiliating, when he was in middle of the spar with Faustus, cheerfully trying if not outright kill him, at least to maul his main obstacle to the sweet, succulent meal that was Ciel Phantomhive's soul.

And lo and behold, just when he was in the position to get rid of Faustus once and for all, he was bowled over by the chatterbox in red with shark teeth, squealing loud and clear the dreaded cutesy name of - "Sebas – chan!"

Faustus' smirk had been the _worst._ Ciel, Sebastian allowed his little victories, because what would be the prey without a little struggling? Besides, Sebastian enjoyed their little power plays, as they kept him on his toes. All for staving off boredom, after all. But Faustus _smirking_ at his misfortune, Sebastian couldn't bear. It took all of his willpower not to choke the red haired imbecile to death – not that he could, without some very specific tools. Shinigami were notoriously hard breed to kill, second only to demons. Sebastian scowled at the humiliating memory.

Thankfully, Faustus never did utter the horrific nickname, but Sebastian suspected the spider butler kept it for some special occasion – that, or he was just too dignified to be caught by anyone calling Sebastian that degrading nickname. It had been bad enough, that mortals knew it – meaning Ciel and his bunch of servants, along with Lizzie and Lau, but mortals die off and the problem is solved. However, immortals are different tune of the song. And having that nickname forever tailing after him – it would be just too unbearable. Thankfully, he did the idiot a favour and in return, Grell had to swear to never, ever utter the dreaded name. Faustus, on the other hand, wasn't obliged to this particular demand, so Sebastian lucked out on that front. Thank Lucifer for too uptight spider demons...

 _Or the counter-blackmail._ Sebastian smirked. He still had that memory of Faustus tap dancing on the top of the rails on that stairway. Grell was _very_ useful sometimes... when he wasn't chasing after his _'Sebas-chan',_ anyway.

He blinked. Reminiscing at the memories of the past was all good and dandy, but that still didn't solve his current dilemma – boredom.

Sebastian hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe it's time to visit my dear rival anyway," he mused to himself, as his lips turned up in a sensual catlike smirk.

Jumping down from the roof, his dark eyes glowed with sinister red glow, and in the next moment, he vanished.

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	2. Green-eyed little fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji or Harry Potter or it's characters. However, I do own this little story.
> 
> Shout Out: Well, guys, this is the second part of Fire and Ice,meaning you will get to know our little Spidey-ahem, Claude Faustus. For all those who are interested about Among the Hawks and Doves, the next chapter will be out soon.
> 
> Warning: SLASH,meaning Sebastian/Antares(Harry)/Claude. Now, about Claude's possessiveness.../Leers/.

 

* * *

**__**

He was, like most of his lesser specimen, patient. He could wait... minutes, hours... _years._ As a demon, he could afford to, if he deemed his pursuit worthy of such a sacrifice.

He lounged in his bed of silk and darkness, watching that pretty little fly with green eyes – green like darkest, deepest emeralds in the hands of the red – haired woman with the same eyes – but he preferred his little fly's eyes – so big, so pretty and shiny...

When the darkness descended on the house, and all was quiet, he slid down his string, only a half-full moon a witness to the small, almost noiseless movement, as those eyes glinted with yellow light as he looked at the child.

The pretty little fly was still small, still smelled of milk and baby powder and dog – and he touched the soft skin, gentle like petals and equally as fragile. The baby didn't move, as the spider moved, the ghost-like touches tickling the small one gently.

He inhaled the scent of that dark hair – so young, and already, the pretty fly's hair was messy, like his sire's was. And soft, like fur of a newborn kitten. The pretty fly was sleeping, unaware of the danger that was skittering along his little body, leaving a small trail of silver after it.

And every morning, Lily was wondering just why was her little Harry cocooned in the spider's silk.

* * *

And then, there came that night. Halloween. The All Hollow's Eve, when the boundaries between the world of living and the world of dead dissipated, if only of one night, as to allow the ghosts to mingle in the material world – be it for business or pleasure.

The spider was hiding –he was always hiding, coming out only when he knew that nobody was near his pretty little fly, and nobody was watching them. Only then, he allowed himself to come out, to caress the dark hair and subtly scent the small one.

"Lily! Take Harry and go!"

He jerked at the shout of the little fly's sire.

Yellow eyes glinted, as he hid under the pillow behind the baby. And just in time, too, as the red-haired woman ran to the baby to take him – but the door opened with a crash.

And he watched, as the snake-like man stepped into the room. He hissed, and his fangs became moist with venom. The snake-man was dangerous.

Bravely, the red-haired woman rushed in front of the crib.

Red eyes, so similar to demon orbs, and yet not, gleamed in the dull light. "Step aside, little girl. " The man hissed out, his voice thick with malice.

He could smell the woman's fear – nay, downright _terror_ , and determination. "No! Not Harry! Please, take me instead!" The woman begged.

If spiders could blink, he would. She was brave. Foolish, but brave.

The venom dripped from his fangs.

"Step aside, you foolish girl!" The snake-man became agitated at the woman's relentless begging.

' _Annoying red fly...'_ The spider agreed with the snake man. Begging _does_ became tedious after few repeats.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

The spider tensed, as the green light rushed at the annoying woman, and then, there was quiet.

She dropped on the carpet, her eyes empty of that spark of life.

* * *

"Mama?" The young voice asked innocently.

The spider waited.

Snake man stepped near the crib. Red eyes looked into the green ones. " So you are the one who could defeat me," He muttered out, black snake-like tongue flicking out to taste the air. "Well, not anymore. Greet your parents for me won't you?"

The spider stiffened.

' _Oh, shit.'_

The snake man wanted to _kill_ his little fly!

And he would be helpless to –

The man smirked. _"Avada Kedavra - !"_ He intoned, red eyes glinting with malicious light.

* * *

Innocent eyes widened at the rush of green death toward him.

It wasn't nice!

"No!" He called out. _"MAMA!"_

His little hands clutched into small fists, as he screwed his eyes shut. He didn't want to leave his mama!

* * *

He was petrified. The green rushed toward them – toward his little fly, and he was helpless to do anything –

And then, in last moment, the bright light blanketed them, making yellow eyes glint demonically, as the green light was stopped and reflected back with twice the speed it was sent out.

There was a double scream – the one of snake man's and the second was from his little fly.

He bristled.

No one – and that meant _no one_ – was allowed to hurt _his_ little fly!

* * *

He comforted his little one as best as he could. Even if what happened was sad, he was happy. The pretty little fly would be his at least. Already, the otherwise bright soul was tainted – and what a delicious taint that was. If only his little fly was older – oh, the possibilities...

Gently, he brushed the small tear tracks off the chubby face, as he watched his little fly sleep.

' _You did good, little one,'_ He mused.

Yellow eyes glinted golden as he felt the tremors of approaching of something... big. Hairy. _Smelly._

Groaning inwardly, he hid himself.

_Again._

* * *

He had to watch as his little fly was taken away from him. Not for long. He would find his little fly... soon.

However, he didn't count on _Them_.

* * *

Green eyes blinked innocently as he was deposited roughly in the cupboard. It was dark, smelling slightly of leather and stale air, and there was so many silver threads –

Webs.

He shook with cold – the blanket he had was too small and he was hungry – but he squeezed his eyes and a moment later, he fell in a deep sleep.

Thousands of little eyes glittered in the dark.

Then, the scratching and skittering began.

Soon enough, little Harry was covered with millions of spiders that acted like some kind of a live blanket.

When he woke up at morning, hungry for milk, he was warm and cocooned in a spider silk.

Petunia Dursley was _not_ amused.

Every night, they came from all the nooks and crannies, and covered the body of little Harry, leaving him in the early morning, snuggled in spider webs.

* * *

He was not amused. If anything, he was cranky to the extreme. He still didn't find his little fly, and that was unacceptable!

Well, yes, there were rumours by the spider web that there was one little boy – but Acromantuals wanted to eat this one, so it couldn't be his little fly.

Outwardly, his face was calm and collected, like usual. Inwardly, he was itching for some good old fashioned torture – mainly one Michaelis bastard .

He was hungry – his last meal wasn't nearly satisfying enough – Hell, even that fake Trancy had been better than this little fop of an idiot – he was annoyed, irritated, and above all... _Lost._

The prey nowadays lacked that distinct flair the ones of the old times had - for all their advancements and proclaimed badassery, they were distinctly squeamish lot, and that just wouldn't do.

He missed those old times and – shockingly enough – being a butler. There was a kind of an unique flair in having such position, and today, butlers were a dying breed, and those who did need a butler were either old, pompous idiots or young, oversexed idiots that made Alois absolute _saint_ in comparison with them. He shuddered at some of him less... savoury memories. Truly, the ages were declining the quality of human population. He would rather starve himself than fed on one of them, but even he was slave to his basic needs and had to eat sometime.

Sighing, he looked at the local monastery.

And promptly stiffened.

"Long time no see, Faustus," The oh so hated voice purred into his ear mockingly.

"Just the face I didn't want to see, Michaelis," The spider demon drawled back, as if his throat wasn't at mercy of the sharp silverware.

Inhaling, he scented the other demon. Michaelis' scent was clean – cinnamon and fresh linen and it irked him something terrible. If he had any aversions, one of them would be aversion to cinnamon, just because he associated its' scent with the bastard, named Sebastian Michaelis.

That oh-so hated chuckle again, and he turned around swiftly, too quickly for a mortal eyes to see it.

_CLANG._

The silverware, one in silver, and one in gold, clashed together with delicate sound.

Dark brown and yellow orbs stared into each other intently. "You still have your touch, _kumoshitsuji_ ," Sebastian said with mock-approval, that catty smirk firmly plastered on his face.

He smirked. "What kind of butler would I be, if I let my abilities to dull through the years anyway?" He mocked back, his voice toneless as always.

He prided himself on being emotionless, sufficient and cold, the epitome the best of the best. He still smirked as he watched the black butler's impeccable eyebrow twitch in irritation.

"Of course, forgive my impertinence," Sebastian said smoothly, the infernal smile quirking his lips a mite bit more upward.

"Besides, there are no prohibitions as to why can't I visit my dear rival, are there, Faustus?" He continued playfully.

One Claude Faustus exhaled a small, but long-suffering sigh. Why, oh _why_ was he cursed with such a perky and annoyingly irritating rival, anyway?

Slowly, both of them retracted their respective weapons.

"Talk." The spider butler ordered, not in a mood to play the game of cat and mouse.

It seemed that searching for his pretty little green-eyed fly would have to wait a little bit longer

* * *


	3. The birth of a monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:I don't own either Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji. Nor I do own the quote – they belong to their respective owners.
> 
> Shout Out:Okay, guys and gals – as promised, the next part is here. /exhausted/ Because you were such persistent little buggers, I dragged myself - - kicking and screaming – to the computer and got out this evil little bit of a story. This time, you will see Harry's side. And don't worry, the butlers will be with our beloved Antares soon...(They are still bickering somewhere – Ahem.)
> 
> Warning: This is SLASH, meaning Sebastian/ Antares (Harry)/Claude. And another warning – this chapter is GORE! Meaning, torture scenes, devious Snakepickle and Dursleys getting their due. If you can't stomach reading gory scenes, I suggest you hightail outta here and wait on next chapter – Or not. If you wanna have nightmares, please be my guests. You were warned.

 

* * *

" _You can't create a monster then whine when it stomps on a few buildings."_

_(by Lisa Simpson; The Simpsons)_

* * *

_It was only a bad dream._ Only a bad dream, a nightmare that would pass with the dawning of the morning light. He wanted to reassure himself that this was not real; however, such reassurances were as far from truth like Sun was from Earth.

' _How could it have all gone so wrong?'_ He asked himself desperately. _'How?'_ One moment, he was at Durslyes, and the next, he was fighting for his life with the Death Eaters and _losing._

And that wasn't even the worst of it. Apparently, Voldemort wanted to make an example of him... the painful way. _Cruccio_ was relatively mild, compared with good old-fashioned methods of torture he became really intimately acquainted with. So he had a dubious honour of being a practice target for his Inner Circle for a ... Month? Two months? He didn't know.

Then, one day, he was dragged out of the dungeon, and in front of Voldemort. He was sick, dizzy, his body was aching like nobody's business, and he lost more blood his body could handle – but he was determined to hold on, if only to piss the Snake-face off.

However, it seemed that Voldemort had something other in up his sleeves today. His clothes were stripped from him, and he was clothed in black – all black, black trousers, black shirt and black cloak, and for the grand finale, someone – Harry thought it was Malfoy – pushed a white mask on his face. And then, the Mark.

Harry's blood ran cold when he connected the dots what they intended to do. Or would have, if he hadn't been half- dazed with pain and trying to overcome the additional unpleasant stimuli.

He was too dizzy. He would have vomited if he could – he was sick – but because they didn't feed him nothing except pain – no, pain wasn't supposed to be a food. _Or was it?_

In an effort to lessen the swimming in front of his eyes, he shut his eyelids, only to wince at the ugly explosion of violent red on the black canvas.

 _Wrong. Wrong. **Wrong.**_ It all was horribly, terribly wrong. It had to be a nightmare – highly realistic one, but a nightmare nonetheless.

But if it was a nightmare, he would have woken up already. Nightmares didn't last past the dreams, did they? You didn't feel a pain when you had a nightmare, did you?

He saw an evil smile on that bitch, Bella –something face.

The bitch was sick – truly sick one, and Harry promised himself after his... _'sessions'_ with the whacko, that he would render her limb for limb, or at least he would have found the kind of torture that would broke the bitch completely... somehow. She had earned the place just behind the Snakeface on his shit list, and that was an accomplishment, as Harry didn't begrudge people...not really.

"I must commend you on your stubbornness, Potter," Voldemort spoke out silkily, his voice slick with sibilant undertone of Parseltongue. Harry was too tired to really respond back. Yes, even he had limits.

Shocking, no?

But true nonetheless.

"You've amused us spectacularly, but I fear you have _... overstayed_ your welcome," Voldemort's words got a snicker or two from the crowd. "So my dear Bella thought up of a new game. You like games, don't you? You're always so _excited_ when she plays with you."

Harry managed a weak snarl. _'You fucking bastard!'_ He thought to himself, his stomach recoiling with hatred.

If the intent could kill... the slithering bastard and all of his sycophants would have been dead a hundred – no, a thousand times over already. Sadly, only intent did nothing to harm the fuckers, even if it had helped Harry to get through all those ... times of _delightful_ actions that were otherwise summed up under very common name of 'torture'.

Each breath hurt. Every inhale and exhale was a tiny bout of agony in and of itself.

"Bella, dear, if you would do the honours?" Voldemort's voice was a distant hiss in his ears.

"With pleasure, " the wretched bitch of a woman cooed out as she stepped forward.

And then, it was, as if Harry's body had been dipped in ice and magma simultaneously –

" ** _AAAHHHHH!"_** He howled out, the sound was so inhuman, so chilling that even the most hardened Death Eaters couldn't help but step back in fear. Whatever was Bellatrix doing to the Light punk had to be painful to the extreme – Potter was resilient to torture, the stubborn arse as he was, but this had to take the cake.

"Everyone... Meet our new ally, Harry James Potter...Or you could just call him Phobos."

They stared at him disbelievingly, before they looked at ... Potter brat.

"...My Lord...?" Lucius Malfoy asked hesistantly.

There, in front of them was kneeling a teen with green eyes...but those eyes were empty.

Voldemort smirked triumphantly. "Rise, Phobos." He commanded, and at the surprise of the onlookers, the teen rose up as if he hadn't been tortured at all. "Yes, My Lord?" His voice was that of Harry and yet –

Yet, it made the gathered shudder at the complete coldness and lack of emotions present in the sound.

"Go and punish your relatives. Do make it an... _example,_ would you?" Voldemort purred as he leaned back in his armchair.

There was a shudder of emotions over the teen's face, but the shudder passed quickly – as if it was only a ripple on the smooth surface of water.

"Yes, My Lord." The teen... _Phobos?_ Said emotionlessly.

"Oh, and Carrow? Do _Glamour_ him... except for his arm. He has to show whose side he is on, doesn't he?" Voldemort's sinister voice hissed out smugly, with an undercurrent of a purr.

"Y – Yes!" Alecto squeaked, before hurriedly applying the glamours.

A minute later, it was as if the teen hadn't been hurt at all – Alecto went as far as to Glamour him as a perfectly healthy boy - a little tanned and with slender muscles.

"And now..." Voldemort smirked. "Phobos – catch!" He called out, before he threw to the boy something long and slender.

The teen's movements were quick and efficient, as he caught the object. Green eyes looked over it emotionlessly.

It was a holly wand with phoenix's tail feather as a core.

* * *

The alarms in the Ministry of Magic were blaring – the thin, screeching sound over the cacophony of shrieks, wais and general mayhem.

"Wha – "

"Outta my way!"

"Where is Minister? Scratch that, Where is Bones!"

"Ouch! Watch where you are going, you mudblood idiot!"

"Mommy!"

_CRASH!_

**_/Attention – Attack at Linder Lea Number forty, Sommerset, Calling for Team Theta, STAT. Repeating, attack at Linden Lea number forty, calling for team Theta – /_ **

_Scccrrrk_

The radio cackled to life again. **_/Warning – This is yellow alarm, attack at Gastonbury, Numbers thirteen and twenty Maple Alley, numbers thirteen and twenty, calling Team Epsilon and Beta, STAT. Spotted Dark Mark. Repeating - /_**

The faces of people paled at the mention of the infamous Mark.

"Mummy, what is Dark Mark?" One girl innocently asked the dark-haired woman who gasped.

However, it was only a harbinger of things that would come.

A dark skinned Auror looked at his partner, one small woman with hot pink, shoulder-length hair. "I have a bad feeling about this, Tonks," The man muttered to his companion. "Go tell Dumble – "

 **/Warning! Yellow alarm, attack at Number Four Privet Drive, Surrey – /** The duo paled.

" _Harry..."_ The pink-haired Auror choked out, her face ashen.

They didn't waste time in running to the nearest fireplace, security protocols be damned.

* * *

He stood over the corpse of his Uncle motionlessly.

Even if his body didn't reflect it, Harry was horrified at what he had done to the man. Sure, the walrus mutant – excuse me, human didn't like him as Harry would have liked – meaning, as a decent human being – but did he really have to get that far?

No. No _. NO!_

Whatever it had been done to him – it was responsible for the mauling the poor bastard.

The pain had been excruciating. Even with the amount of torture he had been through, this kind of agony was...unmatched. It was, as if his very soul had been set on fire or dipped in coldest ice that could be found, before he was somewhat... disconnected from himself.

Oh, okay, he still felt the pain his body was in, but it was muted, and controlled by something that...Harry shuddered. He wanted to get out of that cocoon – get out get out _getoutGETOUT -_

But whatever it was, it held on quite firmly.

And so, when they Apparated to the Privet Drive, he – or his body – _whatever_ – headed straight to front door and entered.

What followed was a massacre.

He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe himself.

He – _it_ – cold-heartedly skinned his Aunt out of her skin, and then splashed on her bleaching liquid, making her howl with agony. When Dudley tried to stop him, he stopped him... cutting off his leg by the ankle. And then another. And then, he cut his knees. Then, he moved onto his fingers. And wrists.

And when he... _liberated_ ...his fat pig of a cousin of his cock and balls, he unceremoniously enlarged a pike and drove it into his rectum though his intestines.

Magic was such a handy thing to have, no?

Vernon... Vernon was a special case.

Because the man was such a great believer in normality, Harry decided to get through with the old and tried punishment for unnatural people.

Burning.

And in combination with the charm for making his nerves regenerate, along with addition of some... _normal_ things made the man sobbing, pitiful wreck.

Transfiguration was a good thing... Yes, very good thing.

An iron chair, heated until it was red-hot with the heat... just for his lazy arse. A crown, the same as a chair – red-hot iron, because the fucker thought himself the almighty, all knowing bastard.

The apple...and sceptre... just for the fuck of it. All hail Vernon, the King of prejudiced bastards.

And just out of spite, Harry carved his face – cut off his ears, nose and torn out the bastard's eyes, along with his tongue.

Then, he painstakingly whittled the fucker's cock – for all of his blathering how homosexuals were freaks, the man sure hadn't hesitated to take advantage of his nephew, hadn't he?

Fucking hypocrite.

Torture was a wonderful thing... as unpleasant as it had been, it also undid the blocks on Harry's memory.

What he remembered... it _wasn't_ pretty.

His ordinary, kind, overly normal family was a bunch of _monsters._

But... Monsters breed monsters...

... and they got their due.

He vanished the chair and the 'ornaments' he so kindly adorned Vernon with, staring blankly at the black and red and white room.

"Oh my _God..."_ Someone whispered. Distantly, he heard retching of someone in a corner – he didn't care.

He couldn't care.

He WOULDN'T care.

_HE WOULDN'T._

* * *

The Death Eaters that accompanied Potter brat – Phobos – could barely stomach the brutality the boy rained upon his family.

Barely?

No.

Not at all.

Even the Carrows were sick – and that said much for the torture-obsessed Dark wizard and witch.

Bellatrix watched Phobos with disturbing gleam of... _Lust?_

Nevermind, they didn't want to know.

For an untrained Light – oriented brat, and a Saviour at that, Potter – Phobos – was surprisingly adept at using what he had on his disposal.

The irony was, the brat didn't know a whit about Dark Magic...

... meaning, he had to use Light magic – and he had... so effectively, that it made their bones chill to their very marrow at the thought of possibility that the boy would have been Dark Lord's heir.

The pops of numerous Apparations shook them out of their dazes.

"Good job, Phobos," Bellatrix purred out, her grin sinister in the half-darkness. "However, I'm afraid we have to part now... because we wouldn't want little Saint Potter associate with dirty, dark Death Eaters now, would we? Ta, love. Enjoy the Light's hospitality!"

With a swish of her wand, she undid the – whatever it was, and the last thing Harry had heard of her, was her crazed cackling being cut off with a pop.

It had been the biggest upset since the revelation of Grindelwald being a Dark Lord... No – since the day when Sirius Black murdered thirteen Muggles heartlessly.

But apparently, his godson, and until now, a Saviour of the Wizarding World, one Harry James Potter, was just as vicious, if not more so, as his darling Godfather, Sirius Orion Black.

The Wizarding World was in uproar.

Nobody could believe it.

Nobody could _stomach_ it.

The kind, albeit a little shy and hot-tempered _Gryffindor_ that saved them from the Dark Lord was in fact _in cahoots_ with the menace!

The Potters had to be rolling in their graves for that injustice.

The Potter name was shamed to such an extent that it was struck down from the list of Ancient Houses, and any and all people of the Potter family were announced as a _persona non grata_ in the magical world. In fact, that meant the Potters were practically outcasts, pariahs, lowest of the low in magical echelons.

The people cried for justice.

And one Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore personally led the campaign.

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	4. Hydra Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either Harry Potter, or Kuroshitsuji nor its characters, neither do I own the segment of lyrics used. This story, though, is mine.
> 
> Shout Out: Well, so there. Long overdue update of Fire And Ice, as promised to be written out. Had a lot of fun with it, once I got myself geared up enough to write it. Hopefully it will entertain you just as much as it entertained me. And yes, the butlers will be coming soon. Maybe not in this chapter, but soon – they are nagging me with their silverware and bribin' me...
> 
> Warnings: AU-verse, as ever, Ministry being stupid and some surprising revelations on Harry's side – wait WHAT! Ahem. Just read it

 

* * *

_I'm in the war of my life  
At the door of my life  
Out of time and there's nowhere to run_

_/John Meyer - War Of My Life/_

* * *

He remembered the proceedings that followed his little... revenge escapade. It felt kind of like a dream – a bizarre, unreal dream, and yet, it was a reality that was all too terrifying.

That terrible feeling of... emptiness, of wrongness was lifted from his mind like dirty cloth or steel manacles and left him bereft, floundering with guilt, horror and despair.

How could he torture his family – no, the Dursleys - so mercilessly? True, they were monsters to him, he knew that, but surely he was better than – that self-imposed Dark Imbecile who had been his... generous... host for the last month. How could he debase himself to the level of his... parents' murderer?

And yet...it was a part of him – a parasite that gnawed at his conscience mercilessly while he tried to reason that he wasn't a bad person – he was a good boy who had the misfortune of having bad things happen to him.

"I'm a good boy..." He rasped our, his chapped lips moving awkwardly as he tried to settle into more comfortable position as he waited for his trial. The cell he resided in was dark and dank and cold, without any comfort. Distantly he felt a chill approaching – the cold chill that made him huddle in a corner, despite several of his bones digging uncomfortably into his muscles. Rationally, he knew that it would be better if he stayed put but...

Whoever said that you had to be reasonable when Dementors came to play with your head?

Flashes of memories assaulted his mind, making him choke as he huddled further in the mouldy and damp corner.

"I'm a good boy," he repeated feebly, his teeth - or what little of them he had – chattering with the increasing cold. "I – I'm a good boy –" Squeezing his eyes shut, he bit his tongue in an effort to stop the slew of memories that hung about his consciousness like wraiths with ghoulish eyes and mouths, ready to rip his already fragile psyche into insanity.

" _I'M A GOOD BOY!"_ The desperate shriek was heard by the two guards that were playing cards in their little room.

One of them, a thuggish looking man with stumpy nose and bushy brown beard snorted contemptuously. "Who is he tryin' ta kid?" He sneered, showing off his yellowed teeth. His partner made an agreeing noise. "An' ta think he tried to fool us into believing he was a harmless snooty little brat!" The sallow – skinned man spat out, as he looked over the cards in his hands. "Got any threes?"

The thuggish man grunted. "Go fish."

* * *

Courtroom number thirteen was the largest one available, and they still had to enlarge it to allow the masses to witness the prosecution of the Boy-Who-Fooled-Them-All, or, the more popular moniker those days, the Boy–Who–Lived-To-Be-A-Killer.

The courtroom was buzzing with noise, and even now the reporters were trying to get better places to record the whole affair.

The buzz increased when a familiar bunch of redheads, along with one bushy-haired girl, stepped into the room.

"Look!"

"There they are! Miss Granger, how do you feel about Phobos' revelation?"

"Mr. Weasley, how do you comment Phobos' recent actions?"

"Miss Weasley! Miss Weasley! What do you think about Phobos' association with You-Know-Who?"

The questions rained onto bewildered group so fast they didn't have a chance to answer them.

" _SILENCE!"_

The sharp roar came from the Chief Warlock, who was looking every inch the grumpy and powerful wizard that had conquered Grindlewald.

The courtroom became deathly quiet. All eyes were trained on Dumbledore's imposing form – for once, he was clothed in dark, sombre colours.

"All questions will be answered in due time. Now, there will be no questions or unrest – anybody who tries to speak out of their turn will be requested to leave the courtroom without chance of return to witness the hearing. Am I understood?" Dumbledore asked sternly. For once his eyes were not twinkling merrily.

After murmurs of sulky agreements, the doors opened and in strode the judges and jury.

This time, the Wizengamot decided to go all out.

Fudge was sitting in his chair, all puffed out and clad in the gaudiest robes he could find. In juxtaposition to him, Dumbledore was wearing sombre dark violet and black with fluorescent little stars and moons splashed across the fabric.

The atmosphere was sombre, but with an air of barely repressed violence swishing around.

"Bring in the accused." Fudge bellowed out, his face shining with triumph.

The doors opened and in glided a pair of Dementors in all of their rattling, cold glory. Between them, there was the murderer and Vold – You-Know-Who's right hand.

Harry Potter. Or Phobos.

People were silent. Phobos' clothes were black, a little torn up, but otherwise, the boy was alright. His poisonous green eyes looked around desperately, shining with panic, but oh no, they would not be fooled again.

They were fooled once, but twice, they would be not.

Then, the murmurs and hisses started.

"Betrayer. Murderer, Filth. Freak. "

The boy flinched under the barrage of the words, his eyes dulling with despair as one of the Dementors gleefully used his powers.

Lucius Malfoy smirked at the look of the boy.

"On this day, we are gathered to pass judgement on one Harry James Potter for his evil deeds against his family and the Wizarding World. The accused is guilty of deceiving good witches and wizards with his supposed innocence, for he had denied his... partnership with You-Know-Who, and said that he never worked for him. He is guilty of murdering his family with the most gruesome method imaginable - a family that fed, clothed and took care of him for fourteen years. Those are his crimes. Now, we will administer Veritaserum so that the accused will reveal his misdeeds himself." Fudge's voice boomed across the courtroom with authority, making the pale teen sag with relief in the chair.

A ministry personnel grabbed Harry's jaw roughly, a disgusted sneer on his face. Disregarding the boy's wince, he dropped onto the boy's tongue the required dose of three drops before releasing the teen's jaw and wiping the hand against his robes as if he had been touching something... unclean.

And then, the questioning began.

"What is your name?"

Green eyes dulling into the daze, the teen answered. "Harry James Potter, Phobos."

The murmuring grew restless at the proclamation.

"Did you kill your relatives on the Friday night this Halloween?"

The teen's face was blank, before stretching into a malicious grin. "Oh, yes, I did. With pleasure, too."

Someone gave out a small cry of dismay and Fudge leaned back, his face shocked. "Describe how you killed them." Dumbledore commanded, his face grave.

Harry emitted a demented chuckle. "Hehe. I skinned the horse and then I bleached her – she was fond of the bleach, yanno? The little whale lost his fatty leggies and the tiny raisins he called his cock and balls and then I got him on a pike, like a little piggy he was. The walrus was properly throned and he should have been thankful for it."

Green eyes shone with madness.

"The fucking walrus always wanted to be a king. So I did nothing but fulfil his fondest wish. He got it all – crown, sceptre and apple, with a throne to sit his fat ass on." Harry said innocently, blinking once.

Fudge made a sickened noise as he was handed the pictures. Even Madame Bones, the Ice Bitch herself, wasn't her cool self anymore.

"So you admit you murdered them in a cold blood?" Dumbledore's voice grew hard and the witnesses flinched at the power it contained.

"Why, yes, yes. They deserved it, for being such a happy family." There was this sick chuckle again.

"Why – Why did you do that?" Madame Bones asked her face ashen with revelation. This creature in the chair surely wasn't Potter –

The creature grinned a small, innocent smile, filled with malice. "I punished them, just like my Lord commanded me to."

The crowd grew uneasy.

"And... Who is your Lord?" Dumbledore whispered out, blue eyes stern.

Harry flashed him a smile. "Why, Lord Voldemort, of course!" He proclaimed sunnily.

Courtroom thirteen was thrown into a chaos.

It took at least five minutes to get the courtroom in order and the chants of enraged people to dwindle down.

* * *

Harry blinked as he looked at all of those furious faces around him.

Just what had he done now?

He wanted to shrink back into the chair, wincing as the chains wound around him even tighter.

"The jury calls Ronald Bilius Weasley as a witness." The sickly sweet voice of the pink toad – eh, Umbridge - declared firmly.

Harry watched his friend hopefully. Surely this was a nightmare and Ron would help him, wouldn't he?

But Ron didn't look at him. He stepped onto the dais for witnesses and swore the oath.

And then, Harry's world crashed down.

Ron told them all about him being a Parseltongue, even going as far as to accuse him of being Dark and killing Cedric, which caused another uproar –

Hermione telling them about his fits of anger and sulkiness, revealing the secrets he thought she never would – like how he disliked the Dursleys and some of him more... unorthodox studies –

Ginny Weasley bawling out her little heart about not knowing that her saviour was so very evil, painting herself the perfect victim of that Chamber of Secrets scene –

Both Sirius and Remus testifying against him, proclaiming they didn't know where they went wrong, but that he wasn't their godson anymore –

Luna Lovegood testifying that he had some Snazzwumpers in his head and insisting that he should have been checked for them, but saying he was innocent, but the public booed her out –

The crimes against him, whether real or imaginary, just piled on.

Harry closed his eyes. He just wanted it all to end – his body may have looked like it was in perfect shape, but he felt every cut, bone and burn aching in a symphony of pain.

Just how could it all go so wrong?

Surely his testimony under Veritaserum should have shed a light over the matter and absolved him?

He was tired, sick and his vision swam, and his ears were almost deaf with the thunder of curses at him and demands for his death.

* * *

After a small eternity, Fudge pounded the gavel. "Silence!" He screamed, and the crowd hushed into annoyed murmurs. They wanted their vengeance and they would have it!

"The case of theWizengamot and people versus Harry Potter, also called Phobos came to following conclusion. The accused is recognized as guilty–" People cheered at that proclamation - "He will be stripped of all of his titles and possessions, be they monetary or otherwise. He is to be sentenced to Azkaban under the heaviest possible guard for three lifetimes, with no chance of parole, and his magic will be bound and sealed. So it was said, so mote it be!"

And Harry's heart shattered.

He didn't protest when they took him to seal his magic – it was as if all the fight had went out of him, leaving behind only an empty shell of despair and hollowness.

The sealing was the singularly worst pain he had ever felt– like someone tearing and not-tearing some important limb from him, like an arm or leg – it was still there, but he couldn't use it, making him feel numb and hollow at the same time, like he would never again be warm and safe. He never knew just how much he depended on his magic, even if it was subconsciously. Now he felt cold, and as if he had hollow something instead of bones and inside that hollowness, there was cold and darkness.

He was stripped of his cloak and they put a heavy pair of manacles on him, both on his wrists and his ankles, the chains jingling a mournful tone. He was trembling with the cold and pain and his body was failing as he was led to the doorway that connected the temporary prison to Azkaban.

He was roughly grabbed and then someone dragged him through and the feeling was as if he was walking through an icy wall of needles piercing through his already abused body.

The trek to his cell was long and silent, interspersed with the occasional shriek or howl of a tortured victim that desperately tried to get away from a Dementor.

It was a relief to be pushed into the small, dark place, so like his cupboard, but infinitely safer somehow.

Slowly, wincing and jerking, he curled into a small ball, his green eyes staring sightlessly at the silver of the moonlight that made its travel across the stone floor.

* * *

Across England, the witches and wizards were celebrating the demise of the Boy–Who-Was-Proven-To-Be-A-Monster, not knowing that they had lost the only thing that stood between them and the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

All the while Sebastian was annoying one Claude Faustus, delaying the spider butler's search for his pretty little fly.

The wheels of fate may have been derailed from their pathways, but once they are turned, they are almost impossible to stop.

Unknowingly for all of them – Voldemort, Dumbledore and their followers, the stage was set and when Bane looked at the stars that night, Mars was brighter than ever, and the Hydra was glittering ominously from the darkened sky.

The stern, hot-headed leader of the Centaur herd felt a chill spike up his spine. He may not be as much of an accomplished stargazer as that rebel Firenze, but he knew enough to know that this particular combination was an omen of very bad times to come.

"May the Heavens help us all," He muttered to himself, before rearing on his hind legs and galloping deeper into the forest, intent on reporting to the Elders.

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	5. I Hear You Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either Harry Potter, or Kuroshitsuji nor its characters, neither do I own the segment of lyrics used. Story is mine /hoards it protectively./
> 
> Shout Out:Okay, another chapter bites the dust. Have an idea for the Among The Hawks And Doves, but I will probably be behind a scheldule a bit, because I have HP/KoF crossover to finish first. The plotdragon is particularly difficult, so I have to …. Discipline it… With biting it to death /manianical grin/. Sorry for not updating this bit sooner, but as some of you know, had trouble with logging in the accounts, so this particular chapter had been delayed from it's actual launch date for a day or two. Give kudos to my beta, MHB to her work. Thank you all for supporting us.
> 
> Warnings:AU-verse - The butlers are finally on the right track, but…!

 

* * *

_I hear you calling  
Calling for me out in the night  
But it's all bad  
And I know that_

_('I Hear You Calling' by The Gob)_

* * *

The world did indeed change from the time of the Queen's faithful little dog and his band of inept servants, Sebastian mused to himself thoughtfully. Humans had advanced with meteoric speed - horses and carriages were switched with those noisy, smelly things called vehicles. They may have been fast, but their noise was annoying, and don't let him even _start_ about the smell.

Technology was another facet of the advancement - everywhere, there were phones - hand phones at that, there was something called television and internet and so many more things... There were no nobles anymore, or if they were, they hardly had the influence of their predecessors, and their names were more of a decoration than anything. The only thing that hadn't changed was that, if you had money, you were influential, no matter of how questionable the origin of your source of payment was. Humans hadn't changed much – they were still a greedy, selfish lot of animals who were ready, willing and able to sell their souls to achieve their means, be it pleasure, revenge, riches or a combination of everything.

Both he and Faustus wandered out and about aimlessly – or rather, Sebastian was following Faustus, partially because it irritated the kumoshitsuji, and partially because he didn't have anything better to do. Luckily, they didn't need to change their clothes much – some re–tailoring of their old butler uniforms into business suits, and they were ready. Because of their knowledge of human psychology, they blended into the crowd rather easily, although they did have some close encounters with model hunters. Apparently both of them were rather... _exquisite_ and would be just perfect for posing for some magazine and whatnot. Sebastian choked back laughter at the memory of one such head-hunter hanging off the irate Faustus and practically _begging_ him to work for her agency. The memory almost outweighed his _'Sebas-chan'_ incident... _almost._ He swallowed back a chuckle as he quietly followed his unwilling guide around. Thankfully, they managed to ditch the rabid pack some blocks back, and in such moments, Sebastian praised whoever gave him demonic abilities. If he were a human... suffice to say, he would have been mauled by the Lizzy look-alike, just that this Lizzy-copy was an adult and in love with his looks very, very much.

Sometimes it just sucked to be beautiful.

Sighing, he looked at his unwilling companion. Faustus was buying a pack of sandwiches and a coffee to go – Sebastian chuckled at the mundane meaning of that little action. It was as if they were humans, while both him and Faustus knew for a fact that as demons they didn't need food other than souls, but apparently living in the human world, Faustus had acquired some of their prey's taste buds. Besides, Sebastian mused, as he shifted slightly, leaning against the wall and cocking a head away from the afternoon sun, it was as good a cover as any. They would have gotten more attention if they didn't eat or drink something than if they consumed food and drink. Sebastian would rather have tea, but beggars can't be choosers.

From what he could discern from Faustus' behaviour, he was searching for... something. And taking the blue butler's nearly obsessive nature into account, it had to be a pretty damned important something for Faustus to search for it for so long. Humming absently, Sebastian noted Faustus coming back, carrying in one hand a plastic bag with four sandwiches and a bottle of water, and in other hand, a large cup of coffee to go, making Sebastian's lips quirk up with amusement at the sight.

It never ceased to amuse Sebastian that the ever–composed, stoic **,** cold ice cube of a kumoshitsuji that was Claude Faustus had a not-so-secret weakness for coffee.

London was a different city now, hustling and bustling as usual, and Sebastian's sensitive ears were assaulted with the strange mixture of sounds – noise from cars, a silent whistle from an underground rail, ethnic music playing somewhere, people's steps hurrying here and there, calls, murmurs, laughter and occasional exclamations. Everything was bigger, cleaner and ... more gray now. There weren't any muddy little alleys anymore, nor was there a stench from rotting vegetables, grease, ashes, human and animal excrements, bones, factory smoke and who knew what other dirty little things that were strewn around. The once well known places were clean now, built up from the ground and there were several different routes in comparison with the last time he had visited the human realm and Sebastian had a fit of a momentary homesickness, wishing he could return to the time when London was still dirty, uncouth and filled with carriages and nobles and secrets that just waited for someone to find them and solve them, be it for the better or worse.

Wordlessly, Faustus thrust the bag with sandwiches at him, making Sebastian nod with gratitude. Well. He _had_ been hungry lately, meaning he would have to find a new prospective meal soon.

He fished out a sandwich, unwrapping it and biting into the bread.

Faustus' lips quirked into a tiny smirk when Sebastian grimaced. He purposefully got leek sandwiches, because he knew that was one of the foods Sebastian absolutely loathed – besides sweets, of course. Sebastian schooled his face back into a mild **,** neutral expression, but it was already too late.

The bastard has already seen it.

* * *

Closing his eyes, Claude inhaled the scents of their surroundings. His little revenge on Michaelis was ... _satisfying,_ but there was still room for improvement. The scents were usual, so he averted his attention but - !

There was a scent. _Another one._

And this scent... At first, it wasn't anything different from the others – blood, like any other, but there was something lying underneath the metallic taste of it.

It was dark and heady and it called to him.

Cocking his head slightly, he flicked his tongue like snake as the scent came near. It was buried under the scent of that... thuggish looking man who was not particularly intelligent, if he went out in a robe and clothes from the Victorian era or something similar. His clothes were astonishingly well preserved, or so it would seem to an inexperienced observer. But to a demon such as one Claude Faustus, they meant something entirely different.

... A wizard.

Demons were the ones who had the entrance to everywhere. They weren't particularly picky if their next victim wasa wizard or a mundane – either way, they were food, and that was it. Of course the wizards were more aware of the demons' existence and the consequences of dealing with one. However, with time, such knowledge had become obscure and obsolete, and only rare people truly knew about demons and how to deal with them. It was Forbidden knowledge, and even their famed Department of Mysteries didn't dare wade so deep as to deal with demons.

"Mm?" Michaelis hummed questioningly as he saw Claude looking at the thug like a spider would eye its next... prey.

Yellow eyes became hellish red for an instant. If Michaelis hadn't looked at him at the time, he wouldn't have seen the change. But he did, and the crow demon's interest was piqued.

Claude didn't care. The thug had something, some... _interesting_ answers he intended to drag out of him, be it in a nice or nasty way, he didn't care.

Mellow mocha eyes widened as he too caught the whiff of that... something under the thug's scent.

"... Tasty." Michaelis purred, his dark eyebrows rising with intrigue, making Claude's eyebrows scrunch for a moment in consternation. Really, the spider butler was so... _uncouth._ Always going with his instincts – nay, after his pleasures. In that, he wasn't any different from those damned Shinigami bastards that were so liberally peppered around. He wanted to bury some dull knives in Michaelis' stomach right now and gouge out his entrails, but if he did right now, he would lose his mark, and the chance to get some answers about that delicious scent.

The stalking didn't take much time. It would, for any normal human, because the thug was at least clever enough to use Muggle repelling charms, but on a demon they didn't have any effect, especially on demons of such calibre as them.

The wizard was ambling lazily, before looking around and sneaking stealthily – or so he would like to think – into some disreputable alley. Looking at each other briefly, the demons knew without a word they would follow him.

And they vanished into the crowd, like they weren't there at all.

* * *

Bart Longman was a wizard. He didn't have any remarkable talents – in fact he barely scraped by in the school, but he still had a feeling of superiority over the Muggles. Even if he worked as a jailer for the temporary prison in the Ministry of Magic, he supposed he was still more valuable that any dirty, filthy Muggle, no matter how rich they were, outside here. In his honest opinion, those Muggleborns should just go back to where they came from, with their radical ideas and whatnot; they were only sullying the Wizarding world. Electry – kitty, _really?_ The Wizarding world was _way_ ahead of those Muggles, who had such a fancy world, but they still couldn't travel in the blink of an eye if it depended on their lives. Muggles would always be inferior to wizards, of that he was certain.

Grunting loudly, he went into a pub, ordered a shot of Firewhisky to pick himself up a little - watching the prisoners was a miserable business, and with those Dementors near, he sure as hell needed something to keep him up! Besides, Bobby once again took all his pay in one of those damn Go Fish games, the damn bastard. Bart was sure Bobby cheated somehow and someday... someday, yes, he would find out how! Well, at least that _'Good Boy'_ wasn't his charge anymore. The brat's wailings about him being innocent drove him bonkers, and more than once, he roughed up the brat, so that they would have a little peace.

Drinking out his fill, he lazily headed to the exit, not noticing the two men that followed him. And even if he had... it wouldn't have mattered.

The alley was dark, dank place; something no sane Muggle would look at as a possible entrance into the Wizarding world.

Hacking a cough and scratching his butt absentmindedly, he had just taken out his wand as to open the portal when he was slammed into the wall so hard he saw stars dancing in front of his eyes.

His gasp of pain was halted as he was harshly turned around to look at his captors.

All his denials that he didn't have any money or something similar died on the tip of his tongue.

Harsh yellow eyes, like those of a predator, stared at him from the delicate aristocratic face. Bart gulped. This man... was not someone he would want to make as his enemy. He was reminded of Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy – he was a year younger than the haughty Head of Malfoy family, but he still remembered the ease, elegance and ice cold feeling of control the blond leader of Slytherin exuded among his peers. This... dark haired man was the same.

A quick cursory look over the man's clothes, however, made Bart unconsciously sneer with disdain.

A Muggle. Or at least a wealthy Mudblood. No self – respecting purebred Wizard would be caught dead in such...disgraceful, revealing clothes such as these.

Bart tried to straighten himself up – he was a Slytherin and proud of it, and besides, Muggles were harmless little bastards anyway.

Shame for him, he wasn't exactly dealing with _Muggles_ now, was he?

"I would apologize for ... _detaining_ you," The man spoke out, his voice smooth and measured, making Bart cower back unconsciously a little, "But I believe you have some information I want."

Bart managed out as sneer. "Then it would cost you." He licked his lips slowly as the man's face remained expressionless.

"You misunderstood me. You will _give_ me any information I want. In exchange... you will be allowed to keep your life." The man informed him matter-of-factly, making Bart gulp noisily.

Bart was a lousy Slytherin... because he was greedy and a coward. He may be stupid but he at least had some self – preservation instincts. Because of that, he didn't join the Dark Lord unlike a certain rat.

"W – Wha' do ya wanna to know?" His voice quivered a little.

The man smiled a small, tight – lipped smile, but Bart didn't even try to mistake it for a kind one.

"Whose blood is on your clothes?"

Bart blinked dumbly.

Blood...on his clothes?

"Blood? Wha' are ya talkin' bout?" He tried to bluster, only to let out a porcine squeal of pain as the manharshly punched him in his fat stomach. If he wasn't held up against the wall, Bart would have been huddled in a ball of agony on the floor. Punches to the liver usually had that kind of effect on a human, and with that unreal strength...

"It's not nice to lie, Bart... Longman, was it?" Another man purred out, making Bart's eyes open wide at the man's knowledge of his name.

This man too was clothed in a Muggle suit, and was as unearthly as his... companion, but he was smiling with amusement and his mocha colored eyes were sparkling slightly.

Bart shuddered.

"Lying is a bad habit, Bart," The mocha – eyed man cooed out, making the fat man gnash his teeth helplessly as he was reminded of Auntie Sophie. She was rail thin, had many cats, was a Hufflepuff and adored the cats. And she had an unfortunate habit of cooing at him... even if he was adult now, as if he was still a five year old snot nosed brat.

Bart hated cooing.

 _Loathed_ it.

That cattish smirk on the man's face made him squirm uncomfortably. "Be a good little boy and... _Tell. The. Truth_." The mocha-eyed man ordered softly, but with a hint of razor sharp steel underlying his words.

He swallowed noisily. For a pair of Muggles, the duo was scarily intimidating.

"Y-es." He admitted, piggy eyes narrowing. "Wha's tha' to ya?"

"Maybe nothing, maybe everything." The cattishly smiling man purred out. "Prison warden?"

Bart's eyes bulged out. "H – How do you know?"

Not that it was a secret, but for Muggles to find it out so easily –

A chuckle. "Elementary, my dear Longman," The man mocked him, his smile razor sharp, making Bart flinch back in the yellow-eyed man's grip.

"So... Who was the poor bastard you taught manners too... not that you have any?" The yellow-eyed man asked softly, making Bart straighten out indignantly.

"Now, see, yah here – "He began, but a sharp look from those eagle–like eyes made him meep with fear.

"Don't stall. If you do... " The man pulled out of his jacket a set of... goldenware knives? Bart blinked, before he grinned nastily. Heh. Stupid Muggle, thinking that a set of goldenware would frighten him.

_TCHAK._

One of the knives was embedded into a sturdy, dirty wall as if it were butter and not a magic – enforced wall, making Bart's eyes bug out with disbelief and fear.

"I will use you as a test subject to check the sharpness of my knives." Claude finished coldly, as if it was an everyday subject as he looked the quivering bag of flesh, fat and bones with contempt.

He disregarded Michaelis' chuckle in the background. "Well?"

The man quivered. "It – It was Phobos!" He managed to get out, his piggy eyes wide with terror.

"Phobos?" Michaelis murmured out thoughtfully. " _Fear?_ Really, who are you trying to kid?" He scoffed, and Bart felt a pit of anger bubbling in his stomach.

"Yeah, _Phobos_ ," He spat out, making Claude politely back away so that he wasn't the sole recipient of the warden's bad breath. "The right hand of Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The damned Potter brat, may he rot in Hell for what he has done!"

Claude's back stiffened.

_Was it possible...?_

After all those years of searching...

"Potter and...?" He spoke to the man, yellow eyes beginning to get tinged with demonic red.

"Harry fuckin' _Potter!_ Satisfied now?" The warden spat out, but Claude dug his fingers in the man's shoulder harshly, making him squeal with pain.

"Green eyes... resident of Godric's Hollow?" He inquired further, his voice steely, making Michaelis looking at him strangely.

* * *

' _Faustus is strangely obsessed with that person...'_ Sebastian pondered, watching the blue butler lazily. It was almost the same obsession the kumoshitsuji had with Sebastian's previous charge, one Ciel Phantomhive. And yet... it was different. It was... Sebastian couldn't describe it. More protective. Possessive. _Obsessive._

"Y – Yeh." The smelly man squeaked out, trembling as he cried with pain.

"Where is he now?" Claude commanded his face intense as he stared at his little prey. The man grinned. "Ya think to save him? Ha..." Then, the man hung his head, and began chuckling in earnest.

"Hahaha... Hehehe..." The chuckles evolved into a crazed laughter. "Ya're too late! Hehehe – _HAHAHAHA_!"

"Where is he?" Claude hissed out, impatient. But the man was still laughing, so he swiftly pierced his shoulder with a knife, making him howl with pain.

"Hehe... "The man chuckled, his eyes glinting crazily. "Ya will never get'im outta Azkaban. They chucked him into the deepest, darkest little hole they could find an' even if they wanted to get 'im outta here, nobody would know how!" He grinned nastily. " 'E deserved it, fer torturin' 'is relatives."

Claude's eyes were hidden behind the glasses. "Is that so?" He murmured lowly, thin lips spreading into the smirk. "I suppose I should thank the one who drove him to it, then."

Bart watched the smirking man with confusion. "Wha? Ya dinna mean ta save him?" he asked, perplexed at the butler's satisfaction. The yellow eyed butler lifted his head, and Bart's blood chilled at the man's expression.

Those yellow eyes were now hellishly red, and the teeth that were previously human, were now molded into a jagged shape, the signature of many carnivores. "No. In fact, he will become a _fine_ meal."

Bart's eyes bulged out with shock before he felt an intense pain and then... nothing.

* * *

Sebastian watched as Faustus simply crushed the man's neck indifferently. Nobody would miss the man... and his death was quick.

"Really, your next meal?" He asked, intrigued. Yellow eyes tinged with red glared at him as Faustus cocked his head and returnedhis face to its implacable mask.

Sebastian smiled. "Mind if I tag along?"

Faustus coughed politely as he licked the excess blood off of his hand. And then, he froze. Partially reddish yellow eyes turned into deep, dark crimson that stopped Sebastian in his tracks. Faustus tilted his head upward, as if listening for something, looking wilder than any time Sebastian had seen him – even when he had accidentally sampled some of Ciel's blood. It was the pose of a predator listening to the wounded cries of a particularly tasty prey.

Then, Faustus grinned. It was a thin, unpleasant grin – the grin of a carnivore preparing for a hunt.

"I hear him." He whispered, so lowly Sebastian almost missed it, but he wasn't one hell of a butler for nothing.

"He's calling me."

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	6. Sinners Are Much More Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own either Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji; nor do I own the song used at the beginning of the chapter. Drat. Okay, but this story is still mine. (Methinks I have a severe case of mine-itis.)
> 
> Shout Out: Almost had a heart attack when the darned Word program ate more than half of my finished chapter and was stubborn to spit it back. So it was a long process of searching for appropriate files, retrieving said files and then trying to piece'em back together…/annoyed sigh/. Thankfully, I managed to do it, but it put a severe delay in my other projects. So I apologize if they won't be out at their time, but rest assured, I will post them up when they will. As always, MHB was a dear and managed to check this chapter in a record time. So thank you, girl, I really appreciate it.
> 
> Warnings: AU-verse,the butlers may be out of character, and the first meeting between them and their would-be Master – ahem, prey. There are three general POV's - Harry's, Sebastian's and Claude's. As they switch around, it may be a mite confusing at first - tell me if I should tack on notice which POV is which. Happy reading.

 

* * *

_I'd rather laugh with the sinners  
Than cry with the saints  
The sinners are much more fun_

_(Only The Good Die Young, by Billy Joel)_

* * *

Azkaban was known as the dreariest, coldest, and most depressing building imaginable. And with good reason, too. It stood on a lone island, surrounded with ice cold water and guarded by Dementors. Azkaban prison was said to be the safest one in the world, and also the cruelest one. It had a reputation of being inescapable, but one Sirius Orion Black had disproved that particular myth spectacularly. Since then, they had stepped up the security measures and the only way a prisoner could get out of this pit of freezing hell was either by bribing someone with a hefty amount of gold or with his feet forward. That is to say, dead.

For one special prisoner, there would be no chance of parole. No extenuating circumstances, no counter-witnesses, no lessening of the sentence, nothing. His magic was bound and sealed, with no chance of it ever being unsealed again. The man - teen, really - was essentially a Muggle.

Since that disastrous trial, he had been thrown into the deepest, darkest and dingiest little hole imaginable, regardless of his injuries. The two guards helped themselves to him to relieve their sexual urges and at first, he had protested and fought back, but the longer the time went on, the weaker his protests were. After all, he didn't have enough energy to move, and much less to hope that anybody would come to rescue him.

The bastards all thought he was guilty. Harry would have scowled, if he had had the energy for it, but right now he was empty. He felt nothing - no happiness, no sadness, only indifference and a strange sense of vindictiveness over the world that had betrayed him in the worst sense imaginable.

Vernon Dursley was right - they were a bunch of freaks that weren't to be trusted by even the smallest margin.

And one Harry James Potter was done being the floor mat for everyone and everything.

He had had enough.

He would happily let Voldemort rain fire and brimstone on their foolish heads, and leave them to fend for themselves... only; there was one teeny tiny thing wrong with his plan.

Voldemort was on the top of his shit list.

_Bugger._

This time, he growled a low, feral sound of dissatisfaction that would be more appropriate for a wild animal than a human, but he had ceased to think as a human long time ago.

He didn't know how long had he been here. Days, yes. Months too. Years? Decades? Don't ask him; he wouldn't have known. Time in here was a rather... obscure thing. There was time for Dementors and time without; there were time for eating and times when he didn't eat; there were also times when he had to take care of emptying his bladder and shitting in the farthest corner available.

There were times of despair, and times when he felt almost blinding anger.

And then, there were times of... _nothing._

This was one such time, when he felt empty of everything and anything; without feelings, without hope, and without despair. He would have felt rather unnerved at the state he had found himself in at those times if he had even had anything to feel about, of course.

It had been a relief to be alone, far away from judging eyes and mocking words, but his memories were companions he would've rather done without. His memories were not of a good sort, even those which had been marginally happy before were now soured with the taste of betrayal.

He had been so masterfully played and used, playing his part as the Boy-Who-Lived, as a whore, as a freak, as a punching bag - so magnificently that the directors who had pressed him into this act deserved an Oscar.

If the fools ever got him out of this hellhole, they would be in for a _rude_ surprise.

Closing his eyes, he gingerly leaned his back against the wall. His cell was marginally better than the cupboard - at least it wasn't as cramped and hallelujah, no spiders in here. The downside was that it was smelly with waste, even if Harry did try to take care of that particular problem, but with him still healing from his injuries he was unable to do anything better than crawl to a corner, do his thing and crawl away again, being mindful of his injuries. It also didn't help that he didn't have anything better than the prison clothes, which were the thin, drab garments and the thin blanket that he found in one of the corners that still stunk from its previous owner.

All in all, it had been a miserable existence, if it could even be labeled as such.

But at least his relatives were rotting in the deepest pits of Hell.

He shifted uncomfortably, barely repressing a wince as one of his bones poked against the torn muscle.

It was as if someone was watching him, but surely that was impossible...

However, the lesson about disregarding his instincts had been harsh and Harry swallowed dryly.

Whoever it was... it was obviously a predator. An intelligent one at that, but nobody was in the cell... were they?

* * *

The eyes watched their prey, scrutinizing it to the smallest details imaginable. It had been almost pathetically easily to find Azkaban, but true to the man's words, finding one Harry James Potter, alias Phobos, was a mite bit harder.

They were demons, after all, and as such better than usual mortals, the fools they were.

Especially when Faustus got a hold of the prey's blood.

' _My, my...'_ Sebastian pondered quietly, holding back a chuckle. In the time they spent watching their prey, they found out that the boy was quite the stubborn one, and very used to pain. This was a disconcerting notion for Sebastian, because he had been used to Ciel's rather vehement... _declination_ of anything painful, and if the now already deceased Phantomhive Earl had been in Phobos' shoes, the little lord wouldn't have survived even one day; nay, even one hour would have been too much for the last and most infamous Queen's Dog.

Yet this boy, who was looking around the cell with wary eyes, survived and lived to tell the tale. Well, not exactly as extravagantly, but Sebastian could see that the boy was, despite the dreadful situation he had found himself in, bound and determined to survive, if only to laugh in the faces of his betrayers after the fools found out what had they done.

The boy leaned against the wall gingerly, closing his eyes as he painfully tipped his head up. He was dirty, smelly and he reeked of old blood. Sebastian would have wrinkled his nose at the uncouth creature, but something made him hold in his involuntary reaction.

"Come out, whoever you are." The boy's voice startled Sebastian out of his rather critical observations.

"Oh? You know we're here?" He asked mildly, the corners of his lips tilting up a bit in an amused surprise.

"Hard not to." The boy's hoarse voice was cracking, and he had to swallow to wet his throat.

"How did you find us?" This was the first time Claude spoke out, and he looked at his prey intensely.

"Sixth sense?" The boy offered blandly. "But the question should've been how did you two manage to sneak inside this little death trap." He shuffled a little to sit more comfortably and immediately winced.

Sebastian's eyebrows arched up as he scented the fresh blood.

"You would like to know, wouldn't you, little masochist?" He purred out playfully, making the boy open one eye and glare at his presumed hiding place.

And Sebastian stilled.

 _Green._ Pure, unaltered, poisonously green, the shade of the richest emeralds and yet -

Sebastian's breath hitched.

By the _Hells_ , the boy had cat's eyes. That shade of green was unnatural and yet it sucked Sebastian in like a sure-fire death trap, like one of those Killing Curses.

All too soon, the boy's eyes squeezed shut again. "Why are you here?"

The question was short and to the point. Faustus shuffled closer, his eyes still locked on his prey. Sebastian realized with a start that he had completely forgotten for a moment they were not alone and he was supposed to be there only as an observer.

Which, he found out, didn't sit right with him.

"I am here to offer you a way out of this hellhole, little fly." Faustus' voice purred out gently, making Sebastian blink at the seductive quality of his tone. For a usually emotionless drone, Claude was now doing a total turnaround and all of this for that whelp?

He didn't even go as far for the fake Trancy noble. So why now? What had changed?

The cell was half dark and it was cold. Sebastian shivered, inwardly cursing Faustus' impatience with finding his little prey. Even if he was used to extreme temperatures, that didn't mean he had to endure them longer than acceptable. And Azkaban rated somewhere in the sub-zero category, warmth or lack thereof-wise.

The boy's head lolled in the direction of Faustus voice, and Sebastian had the irrational urge to take his attention back on his person.

"Really? What would be the price?" The boy snapped out, wrinkling his nose a little, as he shuffled on his little spot, huddling into the little warmth he had.

Sebastian chuckled. "You got a clever one here, Faustus," he mocked his fellow butler, only to be gifted with a scathing glare.

"Well?" The boy prompted them again.

Heedless of the dirt, Faustus knelt on the floor. "I will do anything you would want of me I would get you out of here; kill your enemies - _anything_." His soft purr was now directed solely on the frozen prisoner. "But in exchange, little fly. Your soul would be mine."

* * *

Green eyes snapped open as the boy looked into demons yellow ones. "How do you know I even _have_ a soul?" He rasped out, before he coughed harshly, a small amount of blood painting cracked pale lips.

"Of course you do, little one," Michaelis interrupted, making Claude narrow his eye dangerously at the impertinent crow demon, as the aforementioned demon slowly sashayed toward his prey.

Damn it, Potter was his - Sebastian may have got that Phantomhive brat, but the green-eyed little fly was _his!_

"And what would you want to do with it?" The boy inquired his voice almost voiceless rasp now.

"Why, eat it, of course." Michaelis replied cheerfully.

A stunned silence reigned in the small, musty cell.

"I really didn't need to know that particular tidbit of your diet plan." Claude's little fly snarked back with a sardonic half smile, the half grimace on his face, making Michaelis chuckle perversely.

"Of course, that it when we fulfill our obligations to you," Michaelis ended magnanimously, making Claude growl with irritation.

"You mean when _I_ fulfill my obligations," Claude's tone was deceptively mild, but the warning in it was unmistakable.

The little green-eyed fly was his and his _alone._

Red eyes flashed with challenge.

" _Oh?_ Maybe he would rather have me than an emotionless _kumoshitsuji_ like you." Michaelis purred out, making Claude grit his teeth.

Slowly, Claude turned to his and stood up. "As opposed to _what?_ An uncouth poser like you?" He snapped out, or as much as he could snap, his fingers twitching for some good old goldenware or at least to choke the life out of the crow bastard. Inwardly, he grimaced. Alois' soul was a bad influence on him.

 _Substandard food_ , indeed.

Red eyes narrowed dangerously. "Careful with your tongue, Faustus - you could easily lose it and then how would you get your prey?" Michaelis mocked back with a measured tone, a small, catty smirk on his flawless face.

Golden eyes narrowed with outrage. ' _That bastard - !'_

" _Enough!"_ The rasp wasn't particularly loud, but both of the demons flinched instinctively.

"If that's how you deal with your opponents, I _dread_ to see what you would have done to your enemies. Talk them to death, maybe?" The boy's wispy voice was sharp and jagged, before a new bout of coughing wracked his skeletal body.

Claude cringed, and from the corner of his eye he saw Michaelis flinch a little. He hurriedly turned away from the crow idiot and knelt back to the boy, gently trying to unknot the clenched ball his little fly's body was curled into, only for the boy to flinch away from his hands.

"Don't - Don't touch me, please." The small plead made the blue butler stop in his tracks.

Michaelis kneeled at the boys left side slowly. "I am sorry." The red-eyed demon murmured gently. "It's just - you are interesting and I wouldn't have minded serving you."

The boy looked at him emotionlessly, green eyes boring into his red ones like sharp, ice cold blades, making the demon's breath catch at looking into those exquisite emerald diamonds.

"I have searched for you since that Halloween night." Claude's voice was quiet, making the boy shift his attention to him and inadvertently causing Michaelis to frown. "You may not remember anymore, but I was always with you - well, at least when your parents wouldn't see me," he amended, smiling sardonically at the memories.

Green eyes blinked. "You knew my parents?" The boy asked, and in his voice was such a painful hope Claude was almost sorry to break it apart. "Not as a friend, no. I was a spider at the time."

Dark eyebrows scrunched in thought. "Spider…Spider - wait you were _Spidy!"_ The boy exclaimed, green eyes wide.

Both demons were taken aback. "Yes, how did you know that?" Clause asked, intrigued, while Sebastian smothered his laugh and committed Faustus' new nickname to memory.

"I remembered." The boy answer was short. "Whenever Dementors come near me, I always remember that night."

Claude blinked, astonished, while Michaelis made a faint grimace at the mention of the foul creatures. Demons liked their meals nicely dark, but the Dementors were like someone would eat the food and then regurgitate it back on the golden plate and then offer it to the honored guest.

Nasty.

Because they were so old, they could lock their minds sufficiently to not allow the foul creatures to manipulate their feelings and memories; however, that didn't mean they didn't feel sick in their presence. The Dementors were right foul creatures, but what heckled the two demons the most was that they were potential competitors for their prey, however loathsome they were.

* * *

"My condolences," Sebastian muttered out softly. "However, I think we strayed off the main topic of our enlightening conversation." He tapped his lips thoughtfully.

Harry saw the golden-eyed man bristle at the red-eyed man's little comment. Tiredly, he sighed and slumped against the wall - as much as he could slump, anyway. A headache began to pound in the back of his head, a strong one at that, and it was all courtesy of the two idiots in front of him.

"Go away." His short mumble caught the two men in the middle of their little glare contest. "I am tired, hungry, and cold and you've just topped the worst migraine I've ever had. Congratulations." He rubbed the nose bridge, but winced at half of the movement. His hand dropped uselessly in his lap as he hung his head.

"No." The answer was simultaneous, making Harry stiffen, green eyes squinting open to glare at the two blob-like shapes beside him. _Great_. Now his eyesight was playing with him. _Just great._

"Do you really think I will tolerate your useless squabbling in any way, shape or form?" Now, Harry was never one to be suicidal, but this time he was fed up enough to throw caution to the nonexistent winds and let his mouth run away from him.

"How nice that you still think you still think you have any say in the matter," The red-eyed one purred out playfully, making Harry glare tiredly at him.

"Well, they _did_ say that hope dies last," The other one muttered dryly, and Harry switched his glare to him, making the first bastard chuckle with amusement.

"You two are bastards." Harry mumbled out, scowling unhappily. However, inside, he was thinking.

_Would it be really so bad?_

He was damned either way; he could either stay here and wait for the fucking fools outside to find out the harsh truth and then run in droves to him to bawl for his forgiveness and then demand that he should save them, if he was even be alive and kicking at that point.

And on the other side, he could pick up one of those men, whatever they were, get the hell out Dodge as the proverbial saying goes and have a nice incognito, safe little life; and while he was at that, he could also make the wizards' lives bitter as hell.

Eye for an eye and all that rot.

The only thing was the payment demanded for that kind of service.

Really, his _soul?_

He sighed, instantly having to quell the cough that arose in his chest at the action.

But- What did he have to lose, anyway?

He didn't have friends.

He didn't have family.

He had… Nothing.

Briefly, his heart clenched at the memory of Hedwig, but he ruthlessly squashed it down in the innermost core of his mind.

It was in the past.

But was he really prepared to let innocent people suffer just because some morons made dumb mistakes on their behalf?

He shuddered violenly, clenching his teeth against the pain that wracked his body at the small movement.

And what did they do for him in return, huh? Aside from the scorn, ridicule, praise and worship?

He had saved all of their collective arses, and they were acting like sheeple - ungrateful, loud and selfish little sheeple, blindly following the other idiots to the proverbial slaughterhouse, at the rate things were going.

Well, it wasn't his problem anymore. They had made their bed, they would lie in it. As for his parents, screw them. Harry felt a pang of remorse at the crude thought, though really, he should have known better than what? He was an orphan; had been an orphan since when he was one year old, had had to take care of himself since he could walk in one way or another, no thanks to his darling, loving departed relatives, may they burn in Hell for all of what they had done to him.

His life was his and screw anyone who thought differently. And if he had to sell his soul to have peace from the magic-wielding idiots and their ilk, it would be a small price to pay.

He didn't believe in Hell and God - if there had been a God, and then he, Harry, wouldn't have been here now, alone, broken and bereft of hope. If there had been a God, Harry wouldn't have had to save everyone and their mother - if there had been a God, he would still have his family and he would be normal kid or as normal as he could have been in this crazy world.

But he wasn't and the only thing he had to bargain with was his soul.

The only question now was who to choose?

Spidy or this annoying red-eye?

"Okay." His voice was so quiet that even the two demons had to strain to hear it.

* * *

Two deceptively lithe bodies tensed in anticipation of verdict, two pairs of eyes watched the youth with an uncomfortably intense focus.

"You will abandon Heaven and walk the planes of Hell." One of the men's voices muttered in his left ear. "There's no backing out - not then, not ever. Are you sure you want to do it?"

Closing his eyes, Harry snorted. "I was never in Heaven to begin with."

Both of the demons smiled.

"Then who do you choose?"

* * *

The white feathers that reappeared in the cell - Harry couldn't even fathom _why_ they were here to begin with - began to slowly rise upwards to the ceiling.

"I choose–" Harry gulped, swallowing a dried out spit and grimacing at the taste slightly

"Wait." One of the demons - the one with red eyes - spoke out.

"What _now,_ Michaelis?" The golden eyed one spoke out, nearly growling at the interruption.

"I know you intend to choose him," The red-eyed demon continued unrepentantly, as if he hadn't heard him speak. "However, I would like to be in, too;" He addressed Harry politely.

The other man sucked in a hissed breath.

Harry frowned. From Spidy's behavior, he concluded it was a Big Thing, with all capitals included.

"This is _preposterous_!" Spidy hissed out, his body fairly vibrating with suppressed rage.

"But it can be done." The other's purring voice was cajoling and mild. "And from what we've heard, the kid will need all the help he can get."

The white feathers were still rising - up, up and _up,_ like some kind of weird curtain on the wacky stage of some unknown theatre.

Harry didn't care about it.

* * *

"He was my prey first." Claude regained his momentum. "I will eat his soul." His own golden eyes bled into red as he glared at the former Phantomhive butler.

Sharp teeth flashed in the still darkness.

"Don't think I've forgotten your stunt with my Bocchan." Michaelis purred out wickedly, the soft sound of his voice holding a surprising amount of danger, making Harry cringe into himself.

Being fought over like a piece of meat wasn't his idea of getting out there, but wait technically speaking he was a piece of meat - er, soul. Whatever.

Claude stilled.

_Crap._

He just _knew_ that incident would come back to bite his ass someday

Dread filled his chest at the implications and what that would mean for the future.

"In short," Michaelis continued triumphantly, "Like it or not… _You. Owe. Me."_

A thunderous silence reigned after the smug proclamation.

Taking away claimed prey was a big no-no in the demon codex of honor -yes, the devious bastards did have some convoluted codex they followed, and one Faustus Claude was in big trouble because he had dared to break one of the cardinal rules out there for demon kind: _Do. Not. Steal. Claimed. Prey._ When claimed, it meant there had existed a contract between the human and the demon prior to switching masters - er, _stealing_ the not-contracted humans and whatnot.

Despite the fact that demons lived in a rough society where there was the rule of thumb was the stronger, if not the strongest, always prevails, there was this seemingly absurd rule that made no sense whatsoever. However, it did diminish the clashes between opposite parties and kept the noses of those Shinigami pricks out of their business, so the demons let the rule be.

As a consequence of Faustus' false claim of his now dearly eaten - ahem, _departed_ contractee, one Sebastian Michaelis could get from Faustus a favor of anything he wished, within reason, of course.

This was also why Claude allowed him to tag along in his search for his little fly, however unwilling and uncomfortabe it seemed to be. But for Michaelis to call out his favor for _this_ …

Absurd. Preposterous. Idiotic. Just the thing that soured Claude's day even more than the time when he had his meal of Alois' soul. He still had digestion pains from that one, even if he had already absorbed it.

Rarely, if ever two demons shared one master and for a good reason, one soul could feed only one demon, and not _two._ Besides, they were just selfish bastards like that.

And Claude really, really didn't want to share his cute little fly.

The tension mounted.

"Okay."

* * *

Both of the demons heads whipped in Harry's direction, their eyes wide with shock.

" _Harry!"_ Claude hissed out, shocked. Harry flinched but stood his ground. "I am tired, I know I am about to become a meal and I want to get this over with," he grumped out, green slits of color flashing. "I will be your Master, and you two will be my butlers. Now do you two accept or not?"

After a shocked pause, Sebastian burst out in laughter.

"He is a gem, Faustus. Truly." He complimented the still wide-eyed ex-Trancy butler. "So do we accept?"

* * *

Claude blinked. That _kuroshitsuji_ was asking him? Well, he at least knew his etiquette, that was for certain, even if Claude had the slightest inkling that it made him feel like a woman.

"Of course." He nodded, smirking. "Now, Harry Potter…" He addressed his little fly while the white feathers still floated up, but began to changing into blood red. "What is your wish?"

Harry squeezed his eyes. He was feeling so tired and weak and the pain didn't help.

"I want you two to be my butlers - to get me out of the Wizarding World and help take revenge on those who wronged me however and whenever I want, and in meantime, to take care of me. My payment –"

His body was wracked with a fit of wet coughs, making both demons frown with concern, but their eyes dilated at the dark blood staining those lips and trickling down that slender chin.

"-Is my soul." Harry finished weakly, before his body gave out.

"The contract is accepted." Both of the butlers intoned solemnly, and the red feathers turned into black and dark blue, covering Harry's world in a storm while he screamed with pain as his right eye and the middle of his back erupted with white-hot pain.

Then, he knew nothing.

* * *

Both of the demon butlers quickly supported their new Master, the backs of their right hands still searing with the pain of the contract seal.

"Strange…The pain should be less, not more," Sebastian muttered while Claude frowned in agreement.

"We will talk about this later," Claude muttered out silently. "For now, we have more urgent matters to deal with."

Sebastian nodded, his face serious.

And without words, they knew what to do.

After all, they were not both demons and butlers for nothing.

Meanwhile, Harry was resting in a deep sleep, which was, for once, blessedly without dreams or nightmares.

Unknown to the big players in the Great Game of supposed Dark versus Light, this was the moment two new players were about to enter the Game and overturn everything they had ever known - and not for the better…

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	7. The Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) – they belong to their respective owners. But I do own the idea for this story and the story.
> 
> Summary: He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed. This is SLASH, don't like, don't read!
> 
> Shout Out: Ri-ight. Some very persistent readers - you know who you are - bugged me out of my furor of chasing after statistics, graphs and whatnot, in order to kick out the next chapter. I am sorry for my absence, but I have Real Life priorities to get straight, not to mention an unpredictable internet curfew that makes me literally jump through the hoops if I want to get work done to deadline. Be sincerely grateful to the Goddess of Words that is called Moon Howling Banshee - without her help this chappie would mope on my laptop's disk for a very, very long time. That said, onward, my faithful! /Ahem/. I mean, thank you for your patience and interest in my stories and I am humbly offering you this little morsel to whet your reading appetites.
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of torture, mutilated bodies, Sebastian being stupid for a change and meeting with a very unusual lady. Also, Slash, meaning Sebastian/Harry (Antares)/Claude . The butlers find something very addictive... naughty, naughty them...

* * *

_God bless us everyone,  
We're a broken people living under loaded gun.  
And it can't be outfought,  
It can't be outdone,  
It can't be outmatched,  
It can't be outrun.  
No_

_(The Catalyst, by Linking Park)_

* * *

They managed to smuggle their precious little burden out easily, Sebastian of course dropping a 'substitute' into Harry's cell so as to not cause undue alarm too early. Why invite unnecessary trouble if it wasn't needed?

The night was dark and cold, with moonlight shining glumly through the dark windows. Claude looked at his small bundle, golden eyes glinting behind the glasses.

Right now, Harry was unconscious, wrapped in both of their cloaks. The only thing that was visible of his body was his face – pale, small and withdrawn, like the face of a corpse, it was so very still and unmoving. If Claude hadn't heard his breathing or felt his heartbeat, weak as they may have been, he would have thought he was carrying a dead weight rather than a live one.

"So… Where to now?" Michaelis muttered, dark eyes glinting with a red flash. Claude narrowed his eyes in thought. "We could use the old Trancy Manor…" he trailed off.

Sebastian hummed approvingly. "It will be good enough for now."

And they vanished in a flash of speed.

* * *

The Trancy manor was just like Claude remembered it: big, imposing and painfully bland. Thankfully Alois didn't get it in his head to make any more extensive…makeovers to the building; besides, he was always too busy with his little pet projects to do so.

"You got the key?" Michaelis asked him, startling Claude out of his musings.

Golden eyes blinking, he switched his grip on the small body against his and after a short time spent rifling in his pockets, he found it.

He tossed the key to Michaelis.

"Huh... And I was so sure you got rid of everything that reminded you of him." The crow demon commented off-handedly, making Claude scowl at him almost imperceptibly.

"Just open the door, will you?" Claude snapped at the meddling bastard.

"My, my, so very impatient," Sebastian teased him, but he still opened the door.

And found himself staring at the muzzle of a well-preserved gun.

* * *

"Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?" A sharp female voice snapped from the half-darkness.

Sebastian lifted his arms. "I apologize for intrusion, my lady, but our Master is grievously injured and we seek your hospitality–"

The muzzle of the gun was jabbed into his chest painfully.

"In what way seeking hospitality also means possessing the keys of the house you are trying to get in?"

Sebastian sweat dropped. "Um…Faustus, help would be appreciated, you know." He mumbled to his fellow butler, who stared at the woman stonily.

The woman was clad in her evening robe, which was made from deep aquamarine velvet, and her feet were clad in worn out black slippers. She was middle-aged, but looked older – previously rich mahogany hair was thickly interwoven with silver, and her once youthful face was now pale and gaunt. Only those jade eyes were still shining with a strong life force and almost scary determination.

"Yes, _do_ tell if you don't want to end with a nice big hole in the middle of your chest." She growled out sarcastically.

"Madam, I am Claude Faustus, and my errant companion under your gun is Sebastian Michaelis." Claude calmly interrupted Michaelis, who undoubtedly wanted to make a snarky comment again.

"We are butlers to the young Master here – "He nodded at the crumbled form in his arms.

Jade eyes narrowed. "And who is your Master?" The woman asked, her thin voice crackling slightly, but she still didn't lower her weapon.

"He's Harry Potter."

* * *

"...You're shitting me." She finally spoke out after she got her feelings under control.

"He shits you not." Sebastian interrupted her candidly as he turned to look at Claude's little protégé.

The woman harrumphed. "Let me see him." She demanded, making both butlers tense.

"With all due respect, Ma'am – " Sebastian began, but then, he was interrupted by a sharp jab of the gun's muzzle in his sternum.

"Don't you _'due respect'_ me, young man!" She barked out, jade eyes alit with fire. "Who was the one who broke in my house, huh?" Sebastian glared at her, and Claude could almost feel his fingers itch for some silverware to nail the annoying flesh bag with.

"If you give us your word you won't do him any harm." Claude said calmly, sending Michaelis a sharp look to stay put or else.

The woman cocked his head. "Who do you take me for, a murderer?" She bit out sarcastically, making Sebastian twitch with annoyance.

"You could be." Claude sniped back, his face set into expressionless mask. She glared at him, before harrumphing.

"So nice of you to have such a high opinion of me." She growled out. "Now, will you show me the brat or not?"

"Swear you won't harm him first." Claude repeated.

The woman rolled his eyes. "Right. I, Berenice Sistina Carruthers, swear that I won't intentionally harm one Harry James Potter, except in self-defense. So mote it be."

Sebastian's eyes practically bugged out as he felt the energy – _magic,_ he reminded himself sharply – sealing the promise. "You're a _witch_ _?_ " he asked, inwardly berating himself for such an oversight. However, in his defense, it was hard to believe that when she was pointing a gun of all things at his person.

"You're losing your touch, Michaelis." Claude said mildly, but he stepped forward.

He was thankful for his poker face at that moment – because really, he didn't expect to meet a witch first thing in the house.

Worse yet, it was a witch with a gun – and Claude made a note to check the other Trancy properties for any other… surprises of the Wizarding variety. His only excuse was that he had been absent for at least two hundred years so he really wasn't at fault here – at least not directly.

The woman stepped forward. Her sharp eyes zeroed on the bundle and Claude unwrapped the boy, making her inhale sharply at the state the boy was in.

"Oh, God…" Her voice lowered into a sickened whisper. "Poor child, what have those fools done to you?" Gently, she touched the pale cheek, as she looked over the small one's injuries.

"I will allow you– no, I _demand_ that you stay here until the poor dear heals." She straightened out, gently covering the child again. Jade eyes darkened with sympathy and disgust.

"Ma'am?" Sebastian inquired softly. The woman shook her head, putting the gun on the small tea table. "Call me Sistina. The explanations can wait - right now, it's more important to take care of his wounds. The first floor, right wing will be yours to do with. And I expect you to explain it to me just how and why you knew how to come here…" She eyed him sharply. "With the Manor being under Fidelius, it should have been practically impossible to do so, and yet, Mr. Faustus knew how."

She whirled around. "I will bring you bandages and some potions. The bathroom is –"

"Third door on the left." Claude interrupted her, making her gape momentarily before she collected herself. "Right. Go, I will join you later." She shooed them away briskly, making Sebastian gape and Claude snort as she herself hurried away.

"That… is one strange lady." Sebastian commented, a small quirk of his lips curving into a smile.

Claude snorted again. "Agreed."

* * *

The bathroom was just like Claude remembered it – thankfully they were in a guest wing and not in the master one, otherwise it would have been really awkward – if it hadn't been enough what with Claude's impeccable navigation through the maze that was Trancy Manor – it was Carruthers' Manor now, the spider butler supposed, but he would have to ask their hostess about that.

Right now he had more important things to do than muse about how time flew by.

Michaelis started the bath while Claude carefully placed his burden on the warmed floor tiles. He would have preferred the rug, but oh, well.

With a short glance at each other, the two demon butlers began to carefully disrobe their Master. Sebastian gently took their coats off of their skinny human, careful not to jostle any muscle or broken bone. The boy stank from the manure, sweat and old blood, and if they hadn't been so well used to such situations, they would've gagged at the scent of sickness and death. As it was, their coats were now fit only for the trash bin, as the scent had thoroughly permeated them and even if the humans couldn't scent the difference after the coats had been washed and dried, demons had infinitely sharper senses and the scent was really offensive to their sensitive noses.

The boy laid in Claude's arms like some kind of a doll - a broken doll to be precise, occasionally stiffening or flinching at their movements, but that was the only sign he was even alive to begin with.

Then, the ratty robe was shucked off, followed by the too big trousers and the crusty shirt. The boy didn't have shoes on, which was a small mercy, as the trousers were a literal pain to get off –they had to take care of the boy's legs and his skittishness over that particular part of disrobing told them disturbing news about his state.

Both the mocha colored and golden yellow eyes widened with horror as they finally looked upon the body of their Master.

Harry's body was thin, bordering on a skeletal, covered with lacerations, some half-healed **,** some still healing, and the demons could easily see where the bones had been broken and clumsily reset into marginally correct positions but - oh, hell who were they kidding. It was a fucking wonder the kid could even move what with the state he was in. His right lower arm was also marked with that unsightly mark that made both of the demons glare at it with irritation. Any other day, Sebastian would have been fascinated with the motif and Claude wouldn't have cared either way, but for someone to mark their Master like cattle…. It was _unforgivable!_

Swiftly, Sebastian turned away as he shut the shower, but he couldn't fool the spider butler any more than he couldn't read Faustus.

"Those fools will _pay_." Claude swore, his usually bland voice intense as his golden yellow eyes traced the mark, imprinting it into the memory. "Help me if you would?" He called at the equally fuming crow demon that was still shaking with repressed rage.

"Of course." Sebastian managed to get out politely, but his usually catty smirk was now more terse than anything else. Claude held Harry's upper body, while Sebastian swiftly got his legs and before their prey could squeak in alarm, it was gently placed into the bath.

Harry couldn't help but hold stiff as a board even if his body was practically screaming at him what a stupid idea being so very tense was. He emitted a strange hiss/yelp mix at the sensation of almost too hot water against his abused skin and muscles. It was too much, and his mind shut down.

The two butlers were aware of that, but right now, their Master's state was more of a blessing than a curse, although they would have to…. explain it to him just why shutting down his mind was a colossally bad idea.

Claude was silent as he put his gloves away to touch his Master in order to wash him. For some reason, he disregarded the washing sponge and allowed his cool, smooth fingertips to trace through all the filth that accumulated on the boy's sallow skin.

It was a journey –a journey of pain, shame and dirt and usually Claude would have been too disgusted to do what he was doing right now – even to Alois, and he had bathed the prissy blonde brat with his gloves on, avoiding the contact of skin to skin as much as he could. But for some reason, he thought it disrespectful to do the same to his poor little fly, and he was strangely fascinated with that broken body under his palms. Gently, he touched the fragile left shoulder, frowning as his gaze strayed to the awkwardly positioned right arm. They would have their work cut out for them….

For once, Sebastian held his mouth shut. Mocha colored eyes glinted with an undertone of red as he catalogued the boy's injuries, mentally tallying what it would have to be done to get his newest Master at least marginally comfortable. In his long life, he had seen many mutilated bodies, but this…. This was sick. It was a fucking _wonder_ the boy was coherent as he was in the first place – anyone else would have been babbling gibberish and succumbing to madness.

But not him. Not Claude's little prey…. And Sebastian could respect that. He quirked his eyebrow as Claude pulled off his gloves - it was almost unheard of for the prissy _kumoshitsuji_ to touch a human with his bare hands, but of course, Harry just had to be the exception, wasn't he?

He watched as those long fingers slid across the body, mixing dirt, sweat and crusted blood together and revealing a part of sickly pale skin underneath the filth.

Absentmindedly he also took off his gloves and touched the boy's knee – it was skinny like a bird's and also scarred – but what part of the boy's body wasn't? Gently, he began to sweep the dirt away, casually disregarding his prey's vacant expression and soon he fell into a familiar rhythm of scrubbing, massaging and lathering the body in front of him.

It took two baths for the boy to get at least passably clean – they had to also clean some of his wounds – some they had to open again to let out the pus, some they had to wash out more than usual to get the grit out and the boy's hair was a tale for itself. Claude almost despaired of ever getting it in order, so messy and filthy was it, and not to mention the lice! However, he wasn't a demon and a butler for nothing and even that annoyance perished under his skilled fingers.

It was the boy's third bath and really, this time was more for Harry to soak in and for the wounds to calm down from all the scrubbing and rinsing. The water was now lightly pink, and the wounds were oozing a steady stream here and there.

"Don't you feel better now, Master?" Sebastian inquired warmly, as he looked over the boy that was supported securely by Claude's arms. The boy's closed eyes opened only for a fraction of a second and then closed again, but Sebastian smiled anyhow as his charge decided not to answer. Not that he had needed to, the boy's relaxed position told volumes about his feelings.

Claude hummed thoughtfully. "It will take some work to get you up on your feet again, but I believe it is doable." He murmured to his charge, inhaling the scent of a boy, lavender soap and the tangy scent of fresh blood. Golden yellow eyes took on a pink tinge as he tried to restrain himself from tasting that succulent aroma. And then, he nuzzled the boy's neck, his tongue quickly darting out – just for a briefest moment - to taste his prey.

And with that one, forbidden taste, his word was turned upside down.

The taste exploded on the tip of his tongue, like the juiciest, most succulent berry ever known to man, bitter and sweet and so painfully addicting that made his breath stutter violently on the way out of his windpipe, making him gasp harshly as he fought to retain his mind and not lose himself to the instincts which were now practically howling at him to devour the tasty, helpless morsel in front of him.

" _Again,_ Faustus?" Sebastian exhaled a long-suffering sigh. He had seen Claude in thrall after he had tasted Ciel's blood, and it wasn't pretty – the usually implacable man – er, demon, was turned into an irrational creature of want that went so far as to break one of the most sacred rules ever known to demons.

Claude's answer was tensing his shoulders and a shudder. Suddenly, his body stiffened, and those red eyes widened and –

Mocha-colored eyes widened as Sebastian's jaw dropped. "I can't believe you." Sebastian choked out. "I understood about Ciel, but perving on this kid?"

Faustus would have glared at him, but instead of that, he emitted a feral hiss and he had to force himself to be still as not to dislodge his precious cargo.

Sebastian watched, his eyes still wide as Claude slowly came down from the high their newest Master's blood had inadvertently caused.

Golden eyes intermixed with red narrowed at Sebastian's amused snort. And then, Claude did something completely unbelievable.

Those deceptively thin, slender fingers rubbed one of the deeper wounds, staining the pads of the pale fingers pink and red with fresh blood.

Sebastian froze at the scent of the fresh blood, but what kept him still in place was Claude's feral smirk. "You are always so high and mighty, Michaelis," Claude's voice was a mix of ragged growls and hisses, one more sign of how rattled he was. With a speed Sebastian didn't expect him to have – after all, there had to be some post-orgasm bliss and thus slower reflexes than usual - Claude quickly smeared the tempting red substance across Sebastian's pale pink lips.

He eyed his rival with smirk as Michaelis' eyes widened and he opened his mouth, unconsciously allowing his tongue to sample the sinful liquid.

And this little moment was Sebastian's doom. As soon as he opened his mouth –stupid him, he should have kept it shut - the tiniest droplet of blood slid in and he reflexively licked the spot where it came from and then, it was Heaven and it was Hell; It was pure torture, making adrenalin rushing his through his body and his head become strangely empty of thoughts as his body took command, muscles jerking involuntarily, spasming in a pleasure that bordered on pain– or was it pain, in the guise of pleasure? Whatever it was, he wanted more –

He erupted so hard that for a moment he saw darkness in front of his eyes, but after it passed, he remained here, in the blue-tiled bathroom in Trancy Manor, with Claude watching him mockingly over the dark tousled head of their half-asleep charge. Dark eyes, streaked with hellish red widened with mortification as his brain finally computed that his rival just witnessed his most humiliating moment.

"We are even now." Claude had finally regained his faculties, it seemed, as Sebastian's frazzled expression morphed into a silent snarl of fury as the crow demon struggled to keep his instinct under the wraps.

" _You utter bastard_." Sebastian hissed out, making Claude incline his head slightly, as he returned his attention to their charge, his easy dismissal of Sebastian's little… _problem_ made the crow demon even more infuriated than usual. However, this was no place or time for their little spat, so Sebastian swallowed down his fury, inwardly swearing he would get the _kumoshitsuji_ for the stunt he had pulled. Oh yes, he would, and one itty bitty spider would _pay._

They silently finished washing their Master, both intensely aware of the mess in their pants, while the main culprit was half conscious and not entirely aware he somehow managed to get into an even greater mess than before.

* * *

The breaking and resetting of Harry's bones was done with the swiftness and precision of long practice, with the patient being deeply unconscious, courtesy of one of Claude's acupuncture needles. Of course, Sistina hadn't been idle either - she got the necessary potions and bandages ready, and although she was a little squeamish at what she deemed Muggle's barbaric practice, the ex-nurse held strong as the butler operated on their little Master.

Five hours later, Harry's body was in order – or as much one could be, as the green-eyed wizard still had a long way to recover – he never would recover fully, but most of the damage would be healed enough for him to function normally. He was clothed in a sleeping shirt of the softest cotton, which made his thin, gaunt face even paler in comparison to the rich color of the green sheets of his bed. Sistina looked away from the kid to his new… butlers, was it?

"I think you have some explaining to do." The woman's voice was plain, with a steely undertone, making the two butlers inwardly wince at the command. She was undoubtedly a Trancy, however diluted her blood was.

She eyed the butler duo, her jade eyes hard as she leaned elegantly into the dark green wing-backed chair, as if she were a Queen, expecting apologies from her loyal subjects.

The butlers were, when she looked at them, true specimens of human race, but something told her they were not so…. _ordinary_ as to be mere mortals. She eyed the golden-eyed one expectantly.

Claude sighed. "How much do you know about the history of the Trancy Family?"

She blinked, taken aback by the question. "Well, not very much, I suppose. The Carruthers' bought off this Manor when it was put on auction after the unfortunate death of the last Trancy Lord – but I think it was a third cousin that bought off the property, because he wanted to have a house for his mistress. As the mistress was a Squib, she couldn't live in the Wizarding World without being scorned and joked about, so Alain Carruthers relocated her there. As he didn't have any heirs with his wife, Helen, his only offspring was born from the mistress Joanna. Even if Alain was from a Pureblood family, his descendants were mostly Muggleborns, as the Wizarding World didn't accept the fact that such an old family would stoop so low as for their Head making his bastard children legally his." She ended sardonically.

Claude nodded thoughtfully. "So I see. What do you know about the death of one Alois Trancy?"

Finely shaped eyebrow lifted. "Not much is known – some said that he suffered a heart attack, some said that he was attacked by some wild beast…Why do you ask?" Sistina inquired, intrigued.

"Because, Lady Sistina, Alois Trancy's death was not a coincidence." Claude spoke out, looking in those widened jade eyes calmly. "He had formed a contract…. With a demon."

She stared at the stony, handsome visage of the bespectacled butler. "And that demon is you." She finished, making the other butler's eyebrow quirk up in respect.

"You believe him?" Sebastian couldn't help himself but ask. Sistina snorted as she haughtily lifted her chin. "Of course. I would have known if either of you two busters wanted to fool me." She declared sharply.

It was the demon's turn to blink. "And how, pray tell, would you know that, dear Lady?" Sebastian asked, amused.

"Firstly, he didn't trip the wards." She replied, gifting him with a glare. "Secondly, he knew his way around the Manor and only the ones who had lived in it or had access to it know where to go or when to turn. Lastly…. I am the last Carruthers, and I don't have any visitors, so the only possibility was it was someone who had lived there before. "

"We could be Muggles." Sebastian purred back. She stared at him flatly. "And finding the Manor with a _Fidelius_ Charm onit in a fit of pure dumb luck? I think not."

Claude snorted as Sebastian looked mildly embarrassed, before he complimented Sistina, which she accepted gracefully.

Thus, the strange truce between the last of Carruthers family and the two demonic butlers of a forsaken Savior was established, all while the teen was soundly sleeping for the first time in a long, long time.

_**/To Be Continued/** _


	8. Hearing Heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) – they belong to their respective owners. But I do own the idea for this story and the story.
> 
> Summary: He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed. This is SLASH, don't like, don't read!
> 
> Shout Out: Holy...! /yelp out/ It's that time of the year already? Right, don't mind little ole me. /sheepish nod/ I am serving you a new chapter and I apologize for tardiness - from my side it was a difficult little plotdragon to write, and from my beta, she had her midterms. So, sorry, but rest assured, the next chapter is already in the works. And oh yeah, next chapter Among The Hawks And Doves will be put out soon, imma just having fun torturin' my little Akito/Harry a little to much to let him go... yet. /devilish grin/
> 
> Warnings: Harry in a coma and his thoughts. Oh, and butlers are here, too...

 

* * *

_I am so high I can hear heaven_

_I am so high I can hear heaven_

_Oh, but heaven –_

_No, heaven don't hear me_

_("Hero" by Nickelback)_

* * *

He was floating somewhere. It was a strange feeling, just… floating like some kind of tethered balloon; only, he wasn't a balloon and he didn't see or feel the tether he was chained to.

It was the kind of weightlessness people yearned to experience in their waking hours and instead only got a small taste of it - if ever - in their dreams.

Was he dreaming? He tried to blink, but how could he even do that when he didn't have eyelids to begin with?

And that led him to the next question. Or feeling. Or _un_ -feeling in that case.

There was no darkness or light. He didn't know how he knew that, and after a short musing about how he knew he didn't know how he knew, he gave up. It was a pointless exercise that, if pursued further, would only serve to get his mind into a tailspin without any solution in sight.

So. Here he was, feeling kind of blob-like, and blessedly without pain. When it had been the last time he could honestly say that? Last year? Or month? Last minute? Wait; was the time even relevanthere?

His thoughts moves sluggishly slow; it was as if his mind was both extremely fuzzy and incredibly clear. He frowned - or tried to give an impression of frowning - as he attempted to solve this riddle. Somehow the… _riddle_ … word made him… Annoyed? Irritated? He disliked the word, but it was just a word, wasn't it?

The feeling of dislike persisted, like a particularly stubborn patch of a tar on his skin.

 _Fine._ Enigma, then. He would have rolled his eyes up with exasperation with himself if he had them.

_"Harry….Prongslet…"_

Voices. Echoes. Someone calling? Calling whom? Him? He spun around as to locate those irritating sounds. They were so familiar….

A bark of laughter.

 _"James!"_ The female voice admonished the laughing…. Person? _"That wasn't funny!"_

 _"Aw, come on, Lils!"_ The man whose voice he heard first, cajoled the annoyed female. _"Don't be such a sourpuss - leave that to the ol' Minnie - "_

 _ **"James Hadrian Potter!"**_ The woman's voice thundered, making the listener twitch. _"Harry will NOT be a prankster, you hear me!"_

He blinked. Harry? Like… him? Something cleared in the fuzzy place that was supposed to be his brain.

 _Harry._ Yes. His name. But…. He had another name, too?

Frowning, he searched for the source of those voices, tentatively moving forward.

_"Aw, Lilypads, the Marauders gotta have a legacy – "_

There! The voices….He moved, his not-ears straining to catch the further conversation between the couple.

"Hello?" He asked. "Mind telling me what are you two talking about?"

 _"Hell, no, mister!"_ The woman - Harry saw a flash of red in his memory, red with green eyes – said firmly, making the man whine. " _Harry James Potter will NOT follow your fiendish ways of prankster glory, and if he does, you can kiss your babymakers goodbye!"_

 _"Lily Marie Evans!"_ The man gasped out, horrified. _"You_ _ **wouldn't**_ _!"_

 _Lily._ Harry blinked. Her name was Lily. _Just like his mum's._

 _"I_ _ **so**_ _would, Mister Prongs Senior."_ The woman sniffed mock-disdainfully _. "One if you is enough to tilt the world on the side; but two, I doubt the universe would survive."_

 _Prongs._ A stag. A protector. Silver light petering out, and then nightmares -

Harry jerked away, as if burned, but it was too late.

One memory-pebble caused an avalanche of the rest, descending down into his mind, firing the synapses of his brain with white-hot intensity –

_"No! Not Harry! Not My baby!"_

_"Step aside, little girl –"_

_"Basilisk- the monster - it's Basilisk – "_

-A flash of red eyes, cruel, merciless and high-pitched female laughter –

\- The presence of not-being, so like the _Imperius Curse_ , but much more freeing, so detached, so cold –

_"He is a monster. I've always knew it. And him knowing Parseltongue- it's a sign of a monster."_

-Darkness. Coldness. Hollowness.

_"Fourth champion….. Harry Potter."_

_" 'Oo eez that leetle boy?"_

-The wind was whipping around him, and he was free and wild and he wished for the moment to stretch into infinity –

-A small redheaded girl blushed as she unintentionally put her elbow into a dish of butter, squeaking with embarrassment when she noticed her faux pas –

_"GET UP! GET UP, YOU LAZY, NO GOOD FREAK!"_

-The pain seared across his back, licking his skin and flesh and multiplying as he was struck once again–

-The feeling of soft white feathers as Hedwig nuzzled him in an attempt to make him better –

 _"Harry Potter. Our newest_ _…._ _ **Celebrity**_ _ **.**_ _"_ A sardonic voice spoke to him, with an undercurrent of hate and yearning hidden within its tones.

-The howl that curdled his blood and made him flee for his life.

-Big, golden, predator eyes staring into his own green ones with an intensity that was unnatural –

\- The feeling of sitting on the Centaur's back, cold air whistling around them as they trotted through the forest –

-Something within him splintering, twisting, turning and shoving him backward, green eyes, the same as his own shining with bloodthirsty glee and madness –

The feelings, impressions, memories, all swirled into one, faster and faster, until it practically drilled through his brain like a white-hot ice pick that was at the same time freezing cold, making him convulse in the confused heap of agony and being –

"Mother! Father! Anyone!"

The laughter tinkled around him, like the crystal shards in their rainbow splendor, and there was a lullaby in the background, like a mocking counterpoint to his suffering.

"Please! _HELP ME!"_

_Prongslet. Bambi. Cub. Filth. Freak. Betrayer._

The pain slowly washed away, and he felt as if it welded on him the weight of the world with the chains of lead in some sort of an invisible armor, giving something unwanted, and taking away something… he wasn't sure what, but he still had a sinking feeling he would miss it terribly.

He had heard Heaven….alas, Heaven hadn't heard him.

And with that last thought, his last sight was of two pairs of glowing demonic eyes.

* * *

Two weeks passed since they had rescued their newest Master. Two dreary weeks, filled with duties - Claude had inspected the other properties, and to his relief, there were no further surprises of the witching variety hidden within, even if he had to bear with Sistina's grumbling and bitching around. Even if she was the current owner of the Trancy properties, Claude smoothly overlooked the fact, because in his mind, the only rightful owner was Alois Trancy.

Meanwhile, Sebastian hadn't been complacent either - he had unearthed the old deeds and contracts of the Phantomhive family for their perusal. The funny thing was, the Phantomhive name had sunk into obscurity when Elizabeth married another man after Ciel's death and took his surname in an effort to escape the apparent curse of the Queen's Dogs. Phantomhives were famous - or better, _in_ famous enough to be recognized both in high society and the lowest, dirtiest and ugliest echelons of the underworld, but with some… _persuasion_ , even such infamy could be forgotten and discarded into obscurity.

Both of the butlers had been switching the duties of tending to their Master between them, much to their disgruntlement. At first, Claude insisted to be the only one to take care of the young Master, but then, Michaelis, the damned bastard he was just had to call upon the _'you-_ _so_ _-owe-me-your-ass-for-your-stunt'_ clause, and Claude had disgruntledly agreed to share the duties.

They tended to the teen diligently, taking care of his wounds and changing his bed sheets, along with Sistina's potions being injected into him at regular intervals. The boy slept through all of it like a log, with short periods of wakefulness, but he wasn't conscious at all through them, even if him having been awake at all was taken as a small step to the overall recovery.

Claude narrowed his eyes as he listened to his ward's belabored breath. It didn't happen often, but when it did… it wasn't pretty. The room was in a half-darkness as the evening was slowly fading into the night, the green and white sheets of the bed making their occupant seem even paler than usual.

Dark eyes furrowing, Claude put his hand on the youth's forehead, and true enough, it was wet with sweat and unusually warm.

"Fever. Again." Claude sighed as he gently slid the palm down to cradle the youth's face. "You truly are a bundle of trouble, Young Master," He grumbled at his comatose charge. The boy didn't answer, but the spider butler didn't expect him to. At least his scent was marginally better than the acrid mess of before - the wounds were healing admirably when they were cleaned out and the bones reset in their correct positions, but Claude suspected that Harry would always smell of blood, even when healed. The scent was just too ingrained into him now, cloyingly sweet and bitter at the same time, something unique only to him.

He straightened up, turning away and reaching for the basin of cold water and an appropriate towel. Elegant hands dipped the towel into the basin, letting it soak for a while, before lifting it up and gently wringing the excess moisture out of the cloth. Then, it was folded and gently placed on the boy's forehead.

The boy gasped soundlessly as he unconsciously tried to evade the cold, his nose scrunching a little in discontentment. The eyes behind the eyelids were moving fast, and by the stiffening of the boy's body, he was in considerable stress.

"Any news, Faustus?" Golden eyes narrowed at the voice of the intruder, as Faustus glanced at _kuroshitsuji_ for a moment, before turning his attention back to the object of his scrutiny. "He seemed to be better, but this last nightmare…" Claude sighed, shaking his head. "It's no good for him." The boy started trembling, making Claude sit on the bed beside him. "It's the worst one until now."

Sebastian paused for a moment before hurriedly approaching the bed, sitting on the boy's other side. Dark mocha colored eyes narrowed as he perused the state of his newest Master. "Maybe we could call for Sistina to get him another potion –" He suggested, before shaking his head at his own stupidity. "Sorry. Forgot that he's almost overdosed with them as it is." Slender dark eyebrows scrunched with irritation. "We'll just have to weather this one out."

The boy on the bed jerked as if fighting something, his lips moving but no sound coming out, but both demonic butlers knew how to read lips. Their bodies tensed as unease swept through them as they felt the contract burning on their hands, the heat escalating as the moments trickled by, from being merely an uncomfortable itch to a gnawing, restless pain.

Faustus hissed at the sensation, golden eyes slowly bleeding into demonic crimson. Then, the boy jerked, and the scent of blood wafted through the air, making the two butlers emit tiny growls, not that they would admit to the fact.

Sebastian reached forward, touching a frail wrist, while inwardly, he was fighting off an impulse to sink his teeth into that pale flesh enjoying the perfect temptation –

And blinked as the previously almost unbearable pain dwindled slightly. "What….?" He breather out, astonished, sharing a quick glance with equally bewildered Faustus.

Claude was reigning in his bloodlust as much as he could, while his brain was blazing through the possible explanation for the newest phenomena. However, all the theories were abruptly halted as the eyelids of their patient snapped open, revealing the most exotic green eyes Claude has ever seen. Even when they were hazed and wide with agony, they captivated him as nothing else, prompting him to clutch the hand in his palm tighter.

Their ears were filled with the frantic heartbeat of their prey - it was a faint sound, but to them, it was the sweetest sound they had ever heard.

"Master?" Claude inquired, his voice huskier than he would've liked it to be, but he disregarded it as those eyes blinked and then zeroed onto him.

The boy panted a little, his frail body twitching as he made a move to get his hand out of Claude's clutch, but to no avail. A flicker of irritation passed his face before he gave up and his eyes flickered to Michaelis. Weakly, the small tongue wetted the parched lips, prompting Sebastian to reach for the glass filled with water.

Faustus gently perched the boy upward, noting that aside for occasionally tensing, the teen didn't flinch anymore. Which was a good sign, as it meant his body was successfully mending the damage done to it. Gently, Sebastian reached over, pressing the edge of the glass to his mouth, allowing the boy to sip the liquid slowly, all the while holding his wrist within his hand.

Usually mellow mocha colored eyes were now a demonic red, as those perfect lips curled in a wickedly mocking smile.

"Welcome back, Little Master."

Those catlike green eyes glared at him over the glass as Sebastian pressed a small kiss on the teen's hand, still swirling with heartbreak and confusion, but stronger than ever.

"Indeed." The patient rasped out dryly as the glass was drained of the liquid and put away from his lips.

"You were in a coma, Master." Claude interjected softly. "We are currently in the Trancy Manor as guests of Lady Sistina Carruthers. You were unconscious for two weeks."

Green eyes blinked hazily as Harry looked at the bespectacled butler. "Safe?" His inquiry made Claude nod. "For the time being." Claude murmured. "As it is, nobody knows about your break out yet."

Harry would have felt vindictive glee at the information, but instead, he was capable only of weary amusement. "You did good." He murmured instead, managing a faint smirk. And wasn't it ironic that two demons were more courteous to him than humans ever were? He winced at the sharp pain piercing through his brain at that thought.

A cool hand was placed on his head, making him press into it with relief. "Sleep." The bespectacled butler whispered to him. "We will be here."

Harry's body relaxed minutely at the whispered assurance and he allowed Sebastian to place him in more comfortable position, still half-expecting the pain, but right now, his body was wonderfully numb and he intended to take full advantage of it.

Everything else …could wait.

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_ **

 


	9. Salvation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler) – they belong to their respective owners. But I do own the idea for this story and the story.
> 
>  
> 
> Shout Out: Right, another little chapter belted out. My updating will be sporadic right now, as me and my meta, the faboulous and beautiful MHB have exams to get through, but fear not, I am writing As it is, the next chapter for this story is already in the works, and you can expect the new one for Among The Hawks And Doves out after the exam furor passes. Also Crimson Sagittarius is in works, although I lag behind, courtesy of my other plotdragons. /glares at them/. That said, the story is slowly beginning to kickstart, and this is one of the catalysts...
> 
> Warnings: Doggy prerogatives, family trees and Marauder insanity. Or insanity in general. /hangs head in woeful shame/ Why, oh why I can't I write angst? Anyway, enjoy!

 

* * *

_How can blood be our salvation_  
And justify the pain that we have caused throughout the times  
Will I learn what's truly sacred?  
Will I redeem my soul, will truth set me free?

_(Within Temptation - The Truth Beneath The Rose)_

* * *

The library of the Grimmauld Place was as dark, drab and dreary as ever. Since its days of glory it had lost most of its majestic sheen; nowadays it was covered in spider webs, strange little critters and dust. The books were quietly sitting on their shelves, while some of them were spread on the reading table and a pair of thick tomes was haphazardly open at a random page. The place was furnished in muted colors that were now indistinguishable from the amount of dust and spiders and …. Was that mold in the upper corner there? So the only colors were - if you could call them as such - dark brown, sickly grey and black and some kind of weird mixture of stale puke. There was not much sunlight in it, courtesy of the curtains, and the fireplace was unlit, giving the room an additional feeling of chill. Something shifted on the chair and for a moment, a man would have thought it was only a shadow.

Although very messy-haired and bearded shadow - wait, what? Surely shadows didn't have beards? Or blue eyes? And weren't clad in some weird robe thingy, even if outside it was daytime, not that the occupant knew that, courtesy of him being drunk as a skunk for the last three hours and right now slowly emerging from his restless nap, and with a painful headache to boot.

This, ladies and gents, was the oh so handsome and witty and gay - maybe not so much now - owner of the entire shabby house, named Sirius Orion Black, Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black, also the self-proclaimed white sheep of the Black family.

_"Nnngh…"_ The man groaned, scrunching his nose as he mentally tried to escape the pounding headache that was playing war drums in his noggin. He grimaced at the feeling in his mouth as he gingerly tried to straighten himself up, finally succeeding in his endeavor, but not without small yelps and curses as he unknotted his muscles from the uncomfortable position he curled himself in some thee hours prior. The fearless ex-Gryffindor had taken the residence in the Library simply to escape the nagging of one Molly Weasley - Merlin, that woman could harp like nobody's business, and that was disregarding the fact she and her family were living here as a Sirius' favor to the Headmaster, as the Burrow was burned down five months prior in the Death Eater raid. Luckily for the Weasels - oops, Weasleys, none of their huge brood was harmed - at least not harmed in a way that would last, which Sirius bemoaned - why, oh _why_ , didn't his lovely cousin Bella –no Trixy-Trix - that was not right either - ah, hah Bellatrix! - At least curse the damned woman with something that would take her voice? She would have done him a service - the rotund red-haired woman was good for cooking and breeding like a rabbit, but her voice had absolutely no business of gracing the human ears in any way or fashion - well, except maybe Death Eaters', but the Death Munchies were not counted as part of the human species, anyway. Oh, _poo._

_Ahem._ Back to our esteemed person of interest. So Sirius Black was once again blundering his way through another hangover, not being a Gryffindor and generally feeling like a biggest failure ever. The mess one and a half years ago had done a number on him - first finding out that Harry was Voldemort's supporter, and the boy had cheerfully tortured his relatives so gruesomely that even the most hardened Aurors lost the content of their stomachs on site, and then, the bastard cheerfully admitted that he did the deed and then daring to act _innocent!_

Dull blue eyes narrowed in rage. Ha - no, the _Freak,_ deserved every bit of…. punishment Sirius exerted on his prison. Sirius was only wondering where they went wrong. Why did the boy turn Dark? His parents sacrificed everything for him, and look what that brought them - a son that was consorting with the Darkest Dark Lord of the century, who cheerfully tortured his relatives and shamelessly, admitted it, even going so far as to describing the torture to the jury.

Yes, the boy - _Phobos_ \- deserved every bit of the Dark Arts Sirius could manage to heap on him. Even if Sirius himself had promised himself that he would never, ever be like his family, he had made the exception this time - for his dear deceased friends. Remus had of course tried to protest, gentle soul that he was, but Sirius firmly overruled him, playing on the werewolf's sense of losing his pack. When he was alone, Sirius often wondered if he hadn't gone too far, branding Harry as a traitor to the House of Black, but James' and Lily's deaths quickly overruled such inane thoughts. Blacks were nothing if not thorough in exacting retribution.

Sirius stumbled on his legs, stubbornly trying to disregard the nausea and vertigo that assaulted him at the very moment.

He blinked as he wearily looked at the family tree. The thing was old, dating somewhere in fourteenth century, but Sirius hated the damned thing as he still vividly remembered the lessons on his ancestors' noble deeds and whatnot - his dear mother, note the sarcasm - insisted he was knowledgeable of them, and for young Sirius, this was one torture of his brains he could've gone without.

The old parchment was yellowish, like old hag's teeth, dirty and dusty, and Sirius idly scratched his messy, oily hair as he pondered whether or not to take the damned thing down and burn it in front of his mother's portrait.

Would have served the damned bitch right…

But first…. He had to get to the damned thing. Sirius closed his eyes and inhaled shakily. His stomach was slowly settling down, no longer threatening to upchuck whatever he did and didn't eat yesterday. Once again, he winced, but this time, with different reason.

"Close the damn'd door, Rem!" He barked out, or tried to bark, but all that came from his throat was some kind of undecipherable mumbling. Still, the light from the entrance dimmed as the new occupant of the library slowly shuffled in.

"Sirius…" Remus' disapproving sigh would have made Sirius wince, but they had been through that ritual so many times already it was more out of habit than anything else. "You know, I am surprised you haven't keeled from liver failure yet." Remus commented dryly as he approached his old friend.

Said 'old friend' was currently trying to give him a stinky eye, but with not much success _. "Mmrph."_ Sirius mumbled back. "So what does the shrew want?" Sirius croaked out.

"For you to cease your drinking binges? Really, Siri." The werewolf shook his head, sighing.

Remus Lupin had also changed. He was even grayer, and thinner and his clothes, even if they were marginally better - Sirius had forced him to accept a part of his wardrobe, as his own was practically in shambles, what with the overuse. Previously warm brown eyes now had a faint sheen of amber woven in, a sign the full moon was fast approaching.

The werewolf was crushed when they found out that the kind, shy Harry they all knew was nothing but a fraud. And with Sirius' convictions…. But mostly, his wolf's insistence the…. Boy was something dangerous and with scenting the blood on the boy, and not only that, the blood of his own relatives, Remus was forced to concede. However, even as hard as it was, and with the wolf demanding retribution for his broken pack, Remus had restrained himself from….punishing… the boy. Even if he was a monster, he was Lily's and James' son first, and in honor of the Potters, Remus abstained. That didn't mean he didn't vindictively enjoy in the pained shrieks and howls of said boy.

The Order was waging a war against Voldemort, albeit unsuccessfully. They were simply too few of them, and the Death Eaters were too strong, and when they managed to quell one fire, there were at least three new ones starting. It had been driving them to exhaustion, this kind of guerrilla war, especially as Dumbledore still insisted on using non-lethal force and passing all the Death Eaters they managed to catch, to the Ministry. Which, understandably, let them go at the soonest time possible. Moody had ranted that Dumbledore was old, doddering fool, and privately, Remus agreed with the grizzled Auror, but what they could have done? If they used lethal force they were not authorized with, they could've thrown in jail or worse, Azkaban, and sadly, most of the Order of the Phoenix didn't have the deep pockets of his adversaries that they could have afforded immediate release upon being convicted.

Now, most of the Order was stuffed at Grimmauld Place, as it was their base of operation, and thankfully, Dumbledore still held the Fidelius charm over the property, otherwise they would have been really boned.

"Why th' fuck did ya come here?" Sirius slurred out, jarring Remus from his quiet ponderings. The werewolf barely restrained from rolling his eyes. "For the pleasure of your esteemed company?" He drolled out, managing to get a hacking cough of amusement from the disheveled man that was currently leaning against the table, his spine still slightly hunched, a testament the party animal of the Marauders was feeling his hangover rather acutely. And Remus was not as kind as to supply him with a hangover cure. If the old dog hadn't learned it by now, then he didn't deserve it, and no amount of pitiful puppy dog eyes would have swayed the werewolf otherwise.

"Right," Sirius agreed dryly as his eyes darted to the yellowed thing that Remus knew it to be a family tree.

Remus blinked. "There will be a meeting in half an hour, Pad." He muttered, being merciful on Sirius' ears… for now. Merlin knows, he would get his fair share when Molly started yammering. And if Remus was completely honest with himself, even he would have been driven to the bottle as a distraction tactic, what with the shrew.

_"Mmph."_ Sirius grunted. "And I should care, why again?" He asked grumpily, his eyes still zeroed on the family tree, as he unsteadily stood up. "Dumbledore would just get out the same ol' rules. Seriously, he behaves as if we were kindergarteners with ADD." He muttered to himself sourly, making Remus choke with surprise. "Well, yeah. But how do you know what ADD is?" The werewolf inquired as he neared to the man, absentmindedly looking around the dreary place.

"I _do_ have a brain, you know." Sirius retorted dryly. As he stumbled towards the family tree/tapestry and almost falling, if Remus wouldn't have caught him.

"Whoa, easy. But seriously, Pad, lay off of the tequila and Firewhisky. I swear, one lit match in foot away from you, and you would be a nicely charred corpse." Remus berated him, wrinkling his nose with disgust. "Ugh, you stink." Sirius flashed him a demented grin. "Doggy prerogative." He snarked back, and stepped forward, almost yanking Remus forward as well, as the werewolf was unprepared to the switch of the weight.

"Well, we are lucky you don't have fleas, at least." Remus sighed, half-amused, half-irritated. Seriously, why was he still the friends with the idiot? "What are you up to now?" he asked half-heartedly.

Sirius turned his head back, his shaggy hair seeming silver in the dull light of the library, with some black streaks here and there. Remus made a note to clean the library - with Sirius' permission, of course, later. Although it was funny sight, what with Sirius being like some kind of a badly powdered mannequin - his hair was messy, his dark clothes were not as dark as they were when he had stumbled into his haven – library was only place in the house where the Order didn't have entrance to, courtesy of the Black wards. Remus was extremely lucky he was included in the wards, otherwise he was sure Sirius would have managed to starve himself in it, and no one would have been the wiser.

"So that's why are you staring at the tapestry?" Remus inquired as he supported the doggy man.

"Yeah." Sirius nodded to himself self-satisfied. "It would do…. Oh so beautifully." His scratchy voice contained the undercurrent of an unholy glee that made Remus instantly wary of the ex-convict.

"Would do for what?" Remus asked, with dread pitting in his stomach.

"Why," Sirius beamed, all teeth and mad blue eyes. "We should warm my dear old mum, and the tapestry is _juust_ how we would do it." He reached forward with one hand to tear it off from its place –

_"Wait!"_ Remus choked. "Sirius, this is at least seven centuries of history! It's an artifact!" Gentle brown eyes were widened with horrified amusement as Sirius pouted. "Seven centuries of old croakers who are not alive anymore," Sirius haughtily informed him. "And in the spirit of renovation… it has to go!" he ended grandly as his finger sought the upper right corner of the old thing. "Now do you wanna help me or not?" He asked childishly, a pout forming on his scraggly face.

"But -" Remus tried to protest. However, his eyes stopped on one special name.

_Nymphadora Tonks_

The name was written out with elegant gothic cursive but the lines were…. Burned out? Remus blinked.

Distantly, he remembered when Dora told him that her mother was disowned from the Blacks because she had followed her heart and married one Ted Tonks, a Muggle, much to the disapproval of her mother. It was a sore point for her that she had named in an attempt reconciliation of her mother with the Blacks… unsuccessful, of course, but the name had stayed, as it was recorded by the means of magic.

His 'Dora had gotten a lot of flak for her name - the name was coming from old Pureblood lines, and it was a societal faux pass that an disowned girl, especially one from a Black family, dared to name her child so. It was no wonder Dora preferred her surname…

His eyes narrowed. "By all means, do so." He allowed mildly, his other hand reached for the upper left corner. "Mr. Moony would be delighted in helping Mr. Padfoot to enrage the old wretch to the point of apoplexy."

Sirius' pout changed into a wide, toothy grin. "Atta pal. And Mr. Padfoot humbly thanks Mr. Moony for his esteemed help and promises oodles of show." He said cheekily. "On three?" His fingers curled, feeling the scratchy texture.

"Oodles?" Remus asked dryly, amused. "Seriously, Sirius, just how old are you again?"

"Old enough to drink, fuck and be falsely imprisoned, apparently." Sirius returned the jibe cheekily. "So, Mr. Moony, ready for the first act of insubordination?"

The werewolf snorted. "First act of insubordination, yeah right… seriously, Pad, sometimes I worry for your brain." He cringed as the doggy man burped loudly. "Shoulda knew you would only want me for my brilliant intelligence," Sirius shook his head mock-mournfully, dislodging some dust off of his hair. "Wouldn't Nymphie-dear be disappointed you are contemplating adultery with my fantabulous brain." He yelped as Remus pinched his side… rather painfully. "Ow! See! The proof! You are abusin' my good looks –"

Remus sighed. "I give up." He conceded, amused. His eyes slid over the tapestry mournfully - even if he promised his help, it would be a sad sight to see such a … artifact burn in cinders.

He stopped at Sirius' name, or lack thereof, and blinked.

"Hey, Sirius. Did you know you have a kid?" he asked, half in jest and half in disbelief.

" _Whu?"_ Sirius bleated. "What kid are you blatherin' 'bout?"

"No, see." Remus's eyes were wide with disbelief. "Right under you and…. Sistina Carruthers?

Sirius blinked blearily. "Sistina…" He mumbled. "Sistina…Where have I heard that name already?"

The werewolf shook his head with half-disgust, half-incredulity at his friend's dead brain. Sure it still functioned as intended, but Sirius' memory, except when it was for revenge and pranks, was woefully short. Seriously, it was still a miracle to him that Sirius had ever managed to get into the Aurors.

"You…That sixth year Ravenclaw babe - you did say she was bootylicious or something." he grimaced at reiterating Sirius' description of the girl. "Berenice Sistina Carruthers. She quit the seventh year because of some… health issues."

Sirius blinked. And blinked again. After a moment of frowning, his face lightened up. "Oh! You mean Bootylicious Benny!" He exclaimed, before his face got that dreamy look. "Oh yeah…. _Definitely_ bootylicious…"

Remus rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Sirius, you are such a horn-dog…." He looked back at the tapestry. "Now we know why she quit…she was apparently pregnant with your kid."

Sirius blinked. "Damn. I got a kid. How?" He asked, as he tilted his head, his fingers tracing the name of his… progeny.

"Birds and bees, Pad-man." Remus retorted back dryly. "Birds and bees."

Wounded blue eyes looked at him. "Ow, you wound me. Deeply, mind you. But seriously, if I had had a kid, I would have known it." He haphazardly waved at the tapestry.

"Would you really?" Remus asked skeptically, as he scratched his beard. "You haven't been in this house since the harridan you call mother disowned you."

"But I was in the library since –" Sirius argued, as his eyes darkened at the memory.

Both of the men were momentarily silent.

"Yeah, you were." Remus admitted, before he eyed him accusingly. "Drunk as a skunk, that is."

Sirius stuck his tongue at him, and then both of them turned back to the tapestry, looking at the impossibility that was written there, black on white – er, yellow.

"You know what, Rem?" Sirius asked the werewolf as a small smile of wonder painted itself on his lips. "I got a kid."

Remus eyed him confused. "Yes, you did. So what?" he asked, his previous sense of dread returning with a force, as Sirius gently fingered the name of his… progeny.

Sirius' grin widened itself to unholy proportions.

"So… Let's go tell my dear mummy that I got an heir….Which is, by the way, a bastard kid. "

Remus face palmed.

None of the two men noticed a dark golden and black-striped spider in the corner, its dark eyes watching them with an unusual amount of intelligence.

* * *

News of the day for one Order of Not-Plucked But Still Flaming Turkey…. Sirius Got A Kid.

Yeah, seriously?

The Order Members which were present at the time, disinterestedly watched Sirius triumphantly barrel - or better yet, barrel with some subtle undertones of staggering that could be taken as an unsuccessful swagger, to the heavy curtain that hid behind the shrieking harridan that was Sirius' not so dearly departed mummy, with some kind of a yellowed parchment in his hand, and following behind him, was Remus, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

"What is he doing?" Elphias Dodge muttered to Emmaline Vance, confused. They had never, ever seen Sirius so…cheerful. Usually, the man was depressed, chugging the tequila and Firewhisky like bottomless pit, staggering around, cursing that….demon-spawn or trying to entice Snape into a row. Usually, Sirius came back at the unholy hour of noon, choking down some food, snatching a drink and then holing himself up wherever and whenever, with the exception of the kids' rooms until the morning. And then repeat.

However, this... fine day, Sirius was unusually cheerful - his eyes were still bloodshot, and he had eye bags of epic proportions, and he stank of alcohol to high heavens, but his grin was one of those wide, doggy varieties that just screamed mischief.

… who was right now, opened the curtain with flourish. "Hello, mummy!"

"You again!" Walburga shrieked. "Haven't you disgraced the name of the Ancient and Noble House of Black enough?" The old woman glared at the cheekily smiling son harshly, but Sirius was undeterred.

"Apparently not, as I still live, mummy." Sirius smiled back, all teeth and niceties. "But enough of that, I have brought to you some very joyous news."

The woman blinked, sniffling imperiously. "I sincerely doubt that anything you have to tell me would redeem my opinion of you." She spat out, for once not shrieking, and nearly giving the witnesses a shock.

Walburga Black, being nice?

The world was surely ending!

Sirius, however, was undeterred. "How kind of you, old hag." He nodded at her cheerfully, interrupting her snarl as he waved in front of her face with the old, scraggly piece of –

"- you…. You dared to desecrate the Black tapestry!" Walburga choked out, her dark eyes wide with shock.

Emmaline inhaled a sharp breath. Desecrating a tapestry of an old family such as the Black was an absolute no-no, but apparently Sirius disregarded it cheerfully.

"But Mummy, I was so happy with the news I just had to show it to you in person," Sirius innocently continued, his own blue eyes wide like a kid who was amusing itself with something shiny.

The old woman tilted her messy head like a curious vulture. "And why I should listen to the words of filthy Mudblood-lover and blood traitor like yourself?" She asked silkily, her voice croaking out of her throat.

Sirius beamed even more, if that was even possible.

"Why, mummy, I am so glad you asked." While talking, he unrolled the parchment and pushed it so the old hag could see the writing.

"Or…." Sirius continued deviously, "Should I say…Grandmummy?"

Walburga's eyes widened, just like Elphias' and Emmaline's.

"Wh - what?" Emmeline croaked out.

The menace that was Sirius Black apparently found the means to procreate?

And not only that…

"So…. Mummy…. Meet your grandson, who is, by the way, a bastard kid. Neat, huh?" Sirius asked, like a kid high on Coke and cookies.

_THUMP._

Oh… Who knew that portraits could faint too?

Sirius looked at the skewed portrait, his grin now getting evil proportions. "And just so you know," He announced cheerfully, "I will be making him the Black Heir."

_THUMP._

This time, it was Elphias' and Emmaline's turn.

Remus Lupin groaned pitifully as Sirius skipped in the kitchen to share the happy news and cigars - and just where did he procure those from?

He just felt that his peaceful days were waving him goodbye.

Merlin help them, the world would not survive Sirius and his doppelganger of a brat.

He warily eyed the piece of the tapestry that was haphazardly thrown on the floor.

There, in bold black gothic italic letters, were written two damned words of the approaching Satan's - ahem, Sirius' spawn.

_ANTARES CARRUTHERS_

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	10. (Didn't) Start The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji or its characters, but this story is mine /evil grin/.
> 
> Shout Out: Well, hell. This is my Christmas gift to y'all - you should worship MHB for editing it, because she had troubles with router on her side, and so the belated update of this story. As for the other stories, I am preparing a present, but when it will be out, it will be a secret for now. Merry Christmas, guys and gals, and thank you for your support once again.
> 
> Warnings: Antares is out and causing hell. Our beloved butlers also have a hand in some of the mayhem...and Ministry's stupidity. /rolls eyes/ Go on, read it.
> 
> Dictionary: Atrum Regina (Latin) - Black Queen

 

* * *

_We didn't start the fire_  
It was always burning  
Since the world's been turning  
We didn't start the fire  
No we didn't light it  
But we tried to fight it

_('We Didn't Start the Fire', by Billy Joel)_

* * *

The news of Sirius Black having a son detonated in the Order of the Phoenix like a bomb. Although it was a funny sight, watching Snape screw his face into something like shock, mixed with horror and resigned despair, it also meant that somewhere out there was potential Black Heir and another player in the war. Sirius, of course, protested, but the fact was, Antares was a target anyway - if not by his parentage, then by him being a Carruthers. Carruthers' family was one for the strongest Neutral families, and if it weren't for…. Berenice's…unfortunate state, they would held a sizable power in the Wizengamot. However, with Berenice having been disgraced as it were, the Carruthers lost their seat, as their line was primarily patriarchal, and the stubborn girl refused to marry, even if that would have saved her name, politically and socially speaking. After that… sixth year, they didn't hear of her - it was as if she had vanished from the Wizarding World, and nobody could find her… not that they tried hard.

But now, with Antares, the Carruthers line was once again live which meant that neutral side would gain a strong supporter, if the dark side didn't snatch him first. And with Antares being a Carruthers, there was a possibility that whoever got to him first, would also have the neutrals on his side- not all of them, but some. And in the war which the Light side was steadily losing, the Order desperately needed some new blood in their ranks.

However, the problem was, no one knew just where the boy lived or even what he looked like. For all they knew, the boy could have been schooled at Salem or Durmstrang - his name definitely wasn't on the list of Hogwarts' prospective students. And knowing Berenice's…. magical prowess, her son was bound to be one heck of a wizard. Berenice wasn't known as the _Atrum Regina_ of Ravenclaw for nothing. If one Lily Evans was a Princess of Light, a good scholar and unbeatable in Charms, then it was an undisputable truth that one Berenice Carruthers was unparalleled in Runes and Arithmancy - if she hadn't chosen to withdraw from Hogwarts, there was no doubt that she would have been one of the highest decorated students in Hogwarts' history, the second coming of Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Sadly, Sirius' fooling around had ruined her future and cost the Wizarding World one of their best and brightest minds.

However, now they had a chance at redemption in the shape of her son. What remained was just how to catch him and convince him to join their cause.

And much to their dismay, the time was a-ticking.

* * *

Antares Carruthers looked around the lounge of the Gringott's bank uncaringly, his disinterest not showing on his face. With his memories, he would have thought he would have some emotions about the place, but it wasn't so. The Occlumency shields and meditation techniques Sistina had taught him were working well, even if they were one of the hardest things to learn what with his fractured mind and the curse still clawing through him. At least he had some peace from the Dark Bastard himself. He disregarded the stares and whispers of the people about his person - apparently It wasn't an everyday occurrence for them to see a Muggle-dressed teenager with two human servants accompanying his person - it didn't help that the two butlers were dressed in their uniforms and with their…. grace and handsome features, they were bound to attract at least some attention.

The boy the two butlers were safeguarding was clad in black trousers with polished black leather shoes that were obviously high-quality with a deep gray silk shirt with the ascot of a lighter gray and a small diamond and silver pin around his neck that was in stark contrast with dark blue jacket made from interwoven leather threads. His hands were encased in dark gray leather gloves and he was leaning against a black walking stick with silver eagle's head. The youth's dark hair was let loose to brush the shoulders. However, what interested the witnesses the most was the boy's face. Or rather the black velvet eye patch covering the right eye, while the other was staring at the world in cold, dull green color. Not many people dared to look at the youth's single eye longer that was necessary - it made them shudder with some unpleasant feeling they couldn't name.

"Next!" The goblin barked out with a scratchy voice, his face snarling a little. "Young Master, we are next." The bespectacled man muttered to the teen, receiving a stiff nod in return as the boy turned around and approached the counter.

Snarltooth eyed the teen crankily. "So what do you want?" He demanded, his voice grumpy and fed up sounding, making the two butlers narrow their eyes at him. The teen didn't flinch or get irritated. Green eye stared straight at him. "Check the vault number 862 and take some money." The youth replied, his voice hoarse and hissy as if someone had strangled him in the past and his throat still hadn't recovered completely. Dark eyes narrowed.

"The key?" Snarltooth snapped, baring his teeth in an unpleasant snarl. Wordlessly, if a little slowly, the youth gave him an ornately decorated key, making the goblin sniff with disdain at the perceived slowness. However, his disdain slowly changed into a taken-aback interest.

"Your name?" he barked out as he looked from the key to the youth's unreadable face. The boy stared back emotionlessly. "Antares Carruthers."

Just for a teeny tiny moment, Snarltooth allowed himself to be surprised, before he gave the teen a curt nod. "All in order. Griphook! Lead them to the Vault number 862!" With that said, he impatiently motioned the three Wizards forward, leaving the mystery of the new Carruthers' Heir for a later time to mull about.

Antares sighed, closing his eye for a moment, before opened it again, following the impatient little creature to the carts. "Are you feeling alright, Young Master?" Sebastian asked him quietly, mocha-colored eyes concerned. Antares glared at him briefly before turning his head back to the goblin. "Don't ask such stupid questions." He snapped back. "Let's get that over and done with." Mocha colored eyes widened for a moment before the kuroshitsuji once again donned his pleasant smile. "I am just concerned, Young Master. You know your health is not up to par yet." He muttered back, making Antares growl at him soundlessly. Even if it was true, Antares really didn't want to be reminded of this particular… weakness of his. As if were, even with the extensive therapy done, he was still limited by his body's needs and constraints.

* * *

Half an hour and a queasy feeling Antares later, they concluded the business with Gringotts, much to Sebastian's dismay and Claude's relief. Antares had been so very fun to tease, but Sebastian didn't doubt that Antares would get him back…in spades.

"Where would you like to go next, Young Master?" Claude asked discreetly as he looked at the pale boy. Dark brows furrowed minutely as the youth pondered for a minute what to do next. "Let's go to Florian Fortescue's. I would like a cup of tea and black forest cake," Antares murmured, stilling Sebastian for a moment.

"Is my cooking not to your liking, Young Master?" Sebastian offered silkily, as he tilted his head minutely, making some women in his proximity blush at the innocently provocative image he displayed.

Green eye looked at him dismissively. "I got tired of it, yes." Antares quipped back, making Sebastian almost pout and Claude have to repress a satisfied smirk that was threatening to show on his lips.

"That was not very nice, Young Master," Sebastian demurred back, the edges of mocha colored eyes narrowed a bit, but on the outside, he was a picture of propriety as always.

"You could always resign." Antares countered back, making the black butler's mouth snap shut and Claude cough discreetly in his gloved hand. "Please do," he murmured to his crow colleague dryly, prompting a small, sullen glare from the subject of his teasing.

The trio definitely cut a strange sight as they advanced across the Diagon Alley - two tall men, clad in Muggle's butler uniforms accompanying a pale looking teen whose clothes were a strange mixture of old and modern Muggle clothes. Although most of the spectators were eyeing the youth rather disgustedly for his choice of the clothes, they couldn't help but to admit the mixture was strangely appealing… even if it did out the boy as not one of them. It didn't help that the youth's two…. companions were also model material, and making them wonder if there really existed something like Dark Veelas. The two men were certainly handsome enough to merit that thought.

The trio advanced in a sedate pace to their destination, when the hustle and bustle of the Alley was interrupted by the figures, clad in black and with silver masks hiding their faces.

They just… appeared and begun to cause a chaos.

"Death Eaters!" Some woman screeched in fear, as she tried to get away, shielding her purchases to her anxiously, almost tripping on her robes.

The high pitched cackling didn't reassure the bystanders much, nor did the triumphant howl of a wolf.

If Bellatrix Lestrange and Greyback were there….

_Oh shit._

* * *

The shopping windows were shattered, books torn and potion ingredients spilled up and about, and there was a scared boy crying, calling for his Daddy, but in the chaos, nobody took notice of him…at least not much.

Sebastian flinched as another Bombarda Maxima detonated a mite too loud for his tastes. Claude just calmly yanked their Master away from the oncoming sickly green spell- and good thing that he did, as the supposedly harmless light hit the old man, he crumpled on the ground, screaming in aabsolute agony as all of his bones had begun twisting unnaturally and both demons clearly heard the creaking sound of them breaking.

Antares' slender eyebrow twitched, but otherwise, he didn't bother with the suffering people around him.

"Young Master?" Claude called to him as he casually sidestepped the falling rubble - and not a moment too soon, either.

A green eye looked at him in askance. Claude sighed. As much as he liked Antares'…. character, he would like to have his orders more, thank you very much!

_"Daddy!"_ The five-year old screeched again, his dark hair mussed and eyes wide with panic. The fire had exploded in the Menagerie, prompting the animals to screech, hoot and generally cause a ruckus in an attempt to somehow get away from the hungry flames.

And then, there was a shadow above the boy, a wild one, with sharp canines there and demented yellowed grin - it was a man with gray, unkempt hair and clawed hands and feet. His wild murky brown eyes shone with a maniacal light as he reached for the boy –

_BANG!_

The sound echoed through the alley, freezing their occupants momentarily. All eyes searched for the origin, finding it in a weirdly clothed youth that still held some kind of an L-shaped wand that emitted the sound. The wild man emitted a pained howl as he had been pushed away from the juicy looking boy by the sheer force of the impact that made him hunch into himself in an attempt to soothe the pain and stop the bleeding - at least for a while.

" _You!_ I will feast on your fucking carcass, I swear upon Selene!" He screamed at the green-eyed youth, baring his teeth in a challenge.

However, the brat just stared at him, and offering him a cold smirk, thus enraging the wolf man even further.

"You're welcome to try." One of the brat's guardians called to him mockingly.

"Michaelis. Faustus. " Antares called to his two butlers quietly.

Both of the demons tensed in the anticipation of the order.

And order it was.

"No quarter."

* * *

The two butlers exploded into action - dark-clothed dervishes of death that used…. Cutlery?

Sebastian smirked as he swiftly cut the man's carotid artery, and then casually throwing a pair of forks at the next attacker, stopping him in the middle of the assault quite nicely, if he dared to say so.

There was a furious feminine shriek from the previously cackling woman which had apparently lead the assault, making him narrow his eyes and turn in the search of his new prey.

However, it seemed that Claude was faster. The bespectacled spider butler smirked as he released the golden cutlery, targeting specific points that made woman scream in agony upon the impact - and before he could get to her to inflict even more pain on her, she called out something… and vanished, making him growl with unhappiness.

Meanwhile, Antares wasn't idle either. While he could be perceived as a stationery target and as such easy to take down, his bullets were a very good deterrent to those foolish enough to try as such.

The Death Eaters, seeing their leaders had hightailed out, tried to do the same, and they were mostly successful in their endeavor….Successful in a sense that they lacked an arm or leg or were shot in places that would take a rather long time to heal. The crowd was still confused and lost on the happenings, divided on hailing the trio or getting the hell away from them.

Antares inhaled a shaky breath. Just five minutes more, and he would have been a goner. Even with the gun being charmed to from the butt to the barrel with a heap of charms that would enable the owner's comfort, his body was still not up the par with wielding it for longer than ten minutes. Add the uninterrupted shooting, and his body was ready to declare a revolt on him.

His muscles hurt. Heck, his bones _hurt_ , as if they had been especially unpleasantly jarred - the recoil of his Glock 26 was usually nothing to write home about, but for his hands, when he had to shoot for a longer time, it was torture. He dearly wanted to hide from all the inquiring gazes and whispers, but he steeled himself and straightened out.

What he wouldn't have given for a comfortable bed and painkillers right now…

He felt Claude standing behind him, and Sebastian was approaching him with the nonchalant elegance of someone who just know he was superior to all the rabble on the streets. Usually, that would make Antares irritated, but right now, he didn't care about that kind of petty emotion.

"Young Master?" Claude murmured into his charge's ear delicately. "Do you wish to proceed?" He saw Antares was on the verge of collapsing, but as usual, the stubborn youth would decline his help, even if he had all the legitimate reasons to have it. It made Claude simultaneously irked and concerned. Had Antares no self - preservation instincts in that messy-haired head of his?

Apparently not, if Sebastian's discreet support of their stubborn young master was any indication. Antares nodded mutely, exhaling slowly at the time, as he tried to ignore the stares and whispers.

And then, the well-known cracks announced the arrival of the Salvation Army - oops, wrong moniker. Rather, there were men in red coats with black piping, known as Aurors.

Some people went to do their duties, but most of them was still standing wherever they were at the moment, be it because they were incapacitated or just curious just what would the hapless excuse for a wizarding police do now.

Despite of his involvement, Antares just wasn't interested in playing good doggy for the two-legged snails in human guise.

"Halt!" A pompous voice called. "Hey you, Muggle with two pets! I am talking to you!"

* * *

The spectators waited with a baited breath.

All of them had seen what the boy and his …companions could do if provoked, and the fool had called him out so rudely…

The boy stopped. A single eye looked at the approaching Aurors coldly, involuntarily prompting them to almost let him go, but their leader stubbornly forged onward.

"One would hope you lot were reared to know manners." The boy muttered back as both of his… pets… flanked him.

The stocky Auror flushed with anger, but reined in his impulse. Instead of that, he puffed his chest out and glared back.

"Just what in Merlin's name did you do here?" he barked out, watery gray eyes narrowing disdainfully. "Scaring innocent Wizarding folk like that – "

"Use your eyeballs, if you would please, Auror." The boy snapped back, his voice low and scratchy, making the crowd titter nervously at his choice of words. The mocha-eyed …pet of the boy coughed politely. "Ahem. Forgive my Master, he is still recuperating from his illness. What happened was that some very… disturbing elements of society invaded the Alley, and began attacking people, along with destroying public property. My master intended to avoid the skirmishes, however he was attacked and so he was forced to retaliate." The crowd listening to the man's speech murmured with agreement, flustering the Auror.

"Still! He killed them - and he is not authorized for – " The man blustered onward only for the boy to interrupt him.

"Since when do I need to ask the Ministry for a license to kill when my life is in mortal danger? Did you think I had a time to say to the attacker, which, by the way had intention to kill me by any means necessary, _'Excuse me, but for using lethal force to retaliate, I have to go to the Ministry for a license- would you be so kind and wait here for me for a sec?'_ " The crowd gasped and murmured with indignation. "I. Think. Not." The boy bit out as he stepped forward - only one step, but it still forced the Auror to back away for the obviously pissed off youth. "And while we are at the subject of Ministry, just where were the Aurors when Diagon Alley was invaded, and its occupants in mortal danger?"

"Now, see here – " The Auror tried to get out of the proverbial trap he had gotten himself into, but the glares and the murmurs of the crowd didn't seem to be inclined to allow him that little respite. "Mister saved me!" A small boy who had been rescued, piped up, glaring at the cringing man cutely. " Where were you?"

The kid's question was the trigger that snowballed the crowd's frustration from the simmering tension to low grumbling that became louder and louder by the moment.

"Yeah. Where were ya? Ya were to protect us!" An older woman yelled out, her voice laden with bitterness.

The crowd agreed.

"While ye were sittin' on yer fat arses, Mister had protected us!"

"Yea!"

"And you dare to arrest him! Dragon pox on you, you useless lot should have been thrown to Dementors!" A man with amputated arm roared at them, his face pale with the loss of blood.

The Aurors cringed together as the crowd roared in approval.

"Enough!" Another Auror managed to shout out, blue eyes blazing with anger. " We came as soon as we got the notice – "

"What, half an hour later? _Ye gads,_ if that's how much it takes for you to get to Diagon which is merely ten minutes from the Ministry, I _dread_ to see how long it would have taken you if there had been an attack in Cornwall!" Another man, this time an older one spat out. His hair was white and cropped in a short hairdo, and he was clothed in somber brown and gray colors.

_BANG!_

The crowd flinched at the sharp sound, and some of the women even shrieked a little.

All the attention was once again on the slender black-haired, one eyed teen.

Sharp green and blue eyes looked from one to another face in the crowd, making them flinch or shuffle.

"You behave like a bunch of spoiled children." The boy spoke out, his voice cold and detached. "All of you had wands. All of you could have retaliated against them, but no, you decided to panic and wait for a savior. Well…." He gulped as he closed his eyes, leaning on his cane. "Newsflash for you: the savior doesn't exist."

The crowd's gasps and outraged murmurs mollified the Aurors into relaxing a little, and their leader even puffed out his chest a bit.

"But you saved me, mister!" The boy called out, his voice hurt and confused.

"Because you couldn't save yourself. " The one-eyed teen replied to him, making him flinch. "No parent deserves to see their child to die in front of their eyes. "

"An' you saved them too!" The boy persisted stubbornly, his lower lip jutting out a little in a small pout as his brown eyes glared at the youth with a stubborn faith only the kids could have.

"There won't be a next time." The savior's answer chilled the spectators somehow, making the boy flinch back.

The Muggle boy - and wasn't that a strange thought, that a Muggle boy rescued them - tipped his chin to his two pets and turned around.

"Um… Excuse me, but who are you?" One brave Auror asked timidly almost flinching back from the glare in the single eye.

The youth tipped his head slightly. "Antares Carruthers."

And then, he turned around, his pets faithfully by his side and walking away, with the crowd parting before them like Red Sea.

They watched him go, a frail teen who was still obviously sick, and yet, he had managed to save them from the Death Eaters…and they felt shame.

Not that it kept them for starting rumors, of course.

"Carruthers? You don't mean…." One man muttered thoughtfully.

"But it was said the family was dead, after the stint of that daughter of theirs…." Another person mumbled.

"Ya, bu if ya look at the lad, he has Berenice's cheekbones – "

" - the gall of the brat, returning after Carruthers' chit disgraced their good name…."

"But he's a Muggle, you saw his clothes – "

Someone snorted. "If he's really her son? Doubt it. Shut it Mike, ya know I am right."

The crowd slowly dispersed to their ends, and the day was continuing as usual…

However, the seemingly calm façade couldn't cover the beginning of the restlessness and distrust which had, with that one sentence, been planted in the back of their minds.

_"There won't be a next time."_

Meanwhile, one of the Aurors hurriedly Apparated away, her pink locks fluttering in the wind.

After all, the Black Heir was finally found.

And at the dark corner, one small rat cleaned its whiskers nervously, before scampering away in the dingy alley.

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	11. Back To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji or its characters, but this story is mine /evil grin/.
> 
> Summary: He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed.
> 
> Shout Out: Right-oh. My beta is still out of commission, so I am publishing UNBETA-ED version, which will be replaced with beta-ed one when the next chapter will be out, as to avoid the confusion caused by the replacement, as I found out that when I replace the chapter with it's beta-ed one, the false notices about next chapter are sent around. Inconvenient, but true, and I really left you lot without next chapter long enough. As it is, I managed to successfully do the National Exam (phew), and I am now gearing to get the thesis in order. Also, the plotdragons are very alive, meaning the next chapter of Among The Hawks And Doves, will be out somewhere around the Spring Break, if my beta catches a break from the college work from hell, and if not, well, then it will be another chapter punted out in the wilderness of fanfiction jungle without it's claws having been sharpened properly. /shrugs/. As it is, I also put out some of my other works in a preview mode on a Blogger under the name of PlotdragonsAnonymous - so for any die-hard follower out there who isn't really sure that I am alive, here you go. There you will find the previews of the chapters, some of my works, who aren't up on the FF_net yet, and so on. A hint: Fate/Stay Night (Zero) trial crossover is also holed up here and I am really curious would you think about Gilgamesh in his feathery glory. Yipes, rambled too much. Let's move on.
> 
> Warnings: Showdown between Antares and the old fool. Whoops?

_Things aren't the way they were before_

_You wouldn't even recognize me anymore_

_Not that you knew me back then_

_But it all comes back to me in the end_

_("In The End",_ by _Linkin Park)_

* * *

Really, it was only a matter of time. They had been preparing for that moment almost half a year, but that didn't mean he wasn't any sicker with anticipation than before. All this... _ruse_ , elaborate as it had been, was exclusively for getting his revenge.

He should have forgiven them and left them in their misery, while he would have moved up and about in the Muggle world, but it simply wasn't in his nature to do so. Call him masochistic, call him heartless, but he knew, if he had been offered the deal again, he wouldn't have chosen his way any differently.

"They will be here soon, Young Master," Faustus murmured to him, as he delicately poured the fragrant, rich tea in the porcelain cup.

_Indeed._ Antares grunted quietly, as he looked out of the window, being comfortably perched in his wing-backed chair with the blanket tucked around his hips. This was one of his worse days, regarding the injuries - he still had occasional spells, something they were better, and sometimes they were worse, but they were unpredictable in their coming.

He pondered the little… altercation in the Diagon Alley, wondering once again, if he was really going along with the plan they had concocted before. It was daring, risky and one single misstep on his part could crash everything around their very ears, and his little sacrifice would have been for naught –

Swallowing harshly, he scowled at the window fiercely. The morning was bleak, just like his mood, the gardens empty of their usual bountiful flowers and greenery, as it was already winter time upon the lands again. The bleakness was being enforced even more by the absence of the snow and the presence of the fog milling around the nooks and corners outside.

If anyone would have seen him, they would have seen a thin teenager sitting in the chair that was almost too big for him, with the downy soft gray blanket tucked across his lap, while he was dressed in crisp white shirt along with dark blue pullover and a thin black necktie. The boy's hair was dark and bound back in a ponytail, with some bangs framing his face, making a stark contrast with eye patch and the single dull green eye. His face was thin, and those pale lips were stern looking, not the ones that would laugh much. His forehead was free of the damning scar - it seemed that at least one good thing that came from contracting the two demons was that the taint was removed from him, and thus prompted vanishing the scar. Although that didn't mean much, what with all the other wounds and scars he had accumulated in his…. lucrative career of being a Wizarding World scapegoat. His neck was still bandaged and the skin here had to be treated with ointments at least twice a day. Nothing like that green-eyed, confused and too-easily trusting waif he had been through his years of schooling at Hogwarts.

He closed his eyes as he carefully lifted the small porcelain cup to his lips.

The bait had been snapped up desperately, just like they expected it would be. Even if he, as Harry, didn't know Sirius much, he knew he was desperate for a family, and with the state the Light side was in, along with the recent skirmish in Diagon Alley, Antares had presented himself as an ideal candidate to be allied to Order of the Phoenix, even if his methods came across as a little too… unforgiving for some people. And with him being a Carruthers, the Dark and Grey side were thrown in a tumult of confusion, flailing for anything concrete to hold on in a proverbial sense.

Carruthers' name may have been disgraced, but their power and prestige, even diminished as they were, were nothing to sneeze at.

He sighed with a faint disgust.

"Master? Is the tea not to your liking?" Faustus asked immediately, making the single eye turn to him. Antares shook his head. "Tea is fine. Just my thoughts bothering me. " He murmured back quietly as he leaned forward to place the cup back on the tea table. He was intercepted by white-clad hand that gently plucked the cup from his fingers.

"Everything will be alright. You did prepare for this, Young Master." Claude murmured back, his golden eyes glinting behind the square-rimmed spectacles he insisted on wearing.

"Tch." Antares scoffed. "Since when you were so very optimistic?" He asked the spider butler archly, making a small smirk appear on the man's face.

"You forgot, Young Master. Revenge is a… how shall I put it… a demon's specialty. And as much as I hate to admit it, Michaelis is quite useful in that regard." He murmured back politely as he put the cup on the tray.

"So very demure," Antares snarked back. "Maybe I should have contracted only Michaelis, then." He suppressed a smirk at the almost imperceptible tensing of the butler's shoulders. "That impulse-driven crow? I am beginning to suspect your mental health had deteriorated again if you are speaking such nonsense, Master." Claude replied back stiffly, his pride stung at the implication he was worth less than the _kuroshitsuji_ who was currently waiting on the…. guests… to appear.

Dark eyebrow arched, but as he opened his mouth to reply, he was interrupted by Michaelis entering the room.

"Master, some people wish to have an audience with you." The crow butler almost purred out, mocha-colored eyes glinting with mischief.

* * *

Since that day when one Nymphadora Tonks practically crashed the meeting with the information that yes, one Antares Carruthers does exist and was apparently seen in Diagon Alley with two of his... bodyguards, and not only that, he had driven the Death Eaters back, the Order was in a tizzy.

Especially one Sirius Orion Black. The man was practically whining to go see his son, despite of the danger he would have found himself. The photos depicted a teen, wuth an eye patch and a cold green eye, flanked with the two men and for some reason, Sirius felt an unexplainable longing to get to know the cold child on the photo - so cold and lonely and distant from the world... just what in Merlin's name did Benny do to the lad?

He should have been a kid, like Ron and Hermione, playing and learning and attending Hoghwarts - another question, why he hadn't? - and have fun. But this child on the photo seemed more like a young lord with too soon aged eye instead of the careless teenager Sirius had been in his old days.

And it made Sirius' heart hurt.

However, that still didn't stop Dumbledore from deciding that no, Sirius won't be in the entourage, chosen to convince Antares to come to Grimmauld Place, and yes, Remus was allowed to go - which made Sirius whine and groan twice as bad, becasue c'mon, he was the lad's father and didn't that mean at least a mite bit something?

Remus tried to get out of that onerous duty, because danger or not, Sirius being banned from his son was just too cruel for the old dog. However, Dumbledore steamrolled his protests, pointing out he could at least reprensent Sirius, and really, he was the only one that knew where the Carruthers Manor resided, courtesy of Remus only to brief acquaitance with one Berenice Sistina Carruthers when he was searching for a job. Berenice had employed him for a month, before Remus felt he had been imposing on her too much, gathered his meagre belongings and one sunny autumn day vanished to who knows here.

The next in the small group was, of course, Dumbledore himself and one Alastor Moody for the safety reasons and because he had the magic eye - the Prophet was notorious for it's over-exaggerated stories, however Tonks and Kingsley both reported that the boy's... guards were not the ones to fool with, and if the worse came to worst... well, they shuddered to think about that.

The last in the ragtag group was one William Bill Weasley - a Cursebreaker, in the off-chance they would have needed his expertise. Both Ron and Hermione wanted to come along too, however the game was being played with too great of stakes for the order to allow two blundering teens to mess that particular opportunity up - Ron because of his foot-in-mouth syndrome, and Hermione - well, she was a Muggleborn and that was it. It was all to easy for her to do some sort of a _faux pas_ what with her manners and pushy attitude, and the last thing they needed in the talks with Antares Carruthers was her nagginng. Her... acquaintance with the Potter may have pushed her past of that little habit, but since that unfortunate... accident, the said habit came back with a vengeance.

Surprisingly, they didn't have any trouble with reaching the Manor, and when Lupin pressed the bell, they were answered by a mocha-eyed butler with a polite, foxy smile on his lips.

"Carruthers' residence, how may I help you?" The man asked politely, but Remus couldn't help but feel that the man already knew them and what they were there for.

"Good morning, sir. We would like to visit Mr. Antares Carruthers, please. We have some information about his parentage he would find interesting." Dumbledore interjected smoothly, smiling his patented grandfatherly smile, including with the twinkle in his eye.

The butler's eyebrows arched minutely, and Remus got an impressing the man was silently mocking them.

' _Really. Is that the best you've got?'_

He restrained himself from snarling at the man - the butler was like an annoying crow, mocking and cawing and out of reach when the wolf tried to quiet it.

"And who you may be, gentlemen?" The butler asked softly, his face still implacable mast of pleasantness.

"I am Albus Dumbledore, and my companions are Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody, along with one William Weasley. " Dumbledore replied politely, but Remus didn't overlook the subtle straightening of the old man's spine, as if he were trying to intimidate the stubborn butler to let them pass him and into the house. His wolf would have been flinching by the man's subtle aura, but the butler just stared at them for a moment, before nodded.

"Of course. Let me accompany you into the foyer and inform my Master of your arrival." The butler muttered, stepping back and opening the doors for them to pass through.

The four men stepped in cautiously, expecting a trap to spring at any given moment. However, the anteroom was… ordinary, or as ordinary the majestic anteroom could ever be. The building was surprisingly well preserved for being in an ownership of a Muggle - as far as they knew, Carruthers' manor didn't have any traditional defenses that would be associated with witchcraft, which made them even more uneasy that they already were. For the would be heir of Black family, to be so very unprotected…. It was preposterous!

However, if the rumors about the boy's butlers were true… then Antares didn't really need the complicated wards and whatnot to be protected.

"Any wards?" Dumbledore asked, blue eyes twinkling behind the glasses merrily. Quickly, the Curse-Breaker muttered some incantations, frowning when he got the readings back. "Some…but they had been dismantled for some time. Standard fare, as far as I can tell, but only the most basic. The Intruder Alert, and Anti-Theft one are still in use, and there are remains of Muggle-Repelling one, along with one other, but otherwise…" Bill shook his head, puzzled.

"Strange." Remus muttered, frowning. " For someone with Berenice's knowledge, I would have expected the place would have been warded till the last stone… Something isn't right here, Headmaster." He turned to the Dumbledore, eyeing him with troubled gaze. "Remus, she didn't finish her schooling," Dumbledore replied back, his gaze for once serious. "And if I remember correctly Miss Carruthers was always one responsible young lady. "

Remus snorted, " With all due respect, she was also one not to foregone cautionary procedures, and if you remember, there was also V- the Dark Lord's reign of terror lasting that time. And I seriously doubt that Berenice wouldn't have protected herself as much as she was able. "

"Hmmm…. Interesting, indeed." Dumbledore mumbled thoughtfully, as he stroked his beard. "And also troubling."

"Don't we all know it." Bill snorted, as he looked all over the anteroom. There was a plush dark red carpet on the shiny wooden floor, with well-cared for pieces of furniture from some kind of a dark wood, with the seats' upholstered backs and tight seats in the velvet of the color of ivory with golden thread being seen here and there. The walls were gentle peach color with some pale beige thrown in with stucco motifs of roses and pieces of fruit woven in, looking so realistic that Bill would have sworn some naughty poltergeist just dipped them in the beige paint and stuck them on the walls and against the ceiling. All in all, the anteroom was giving off the air of elegance and antiquity feeling that could humble even the most aristocratic of wizarding families into shame. Bill just knew that Fleur would have squealed his ears off if she had seen the room. Veelas were… ah… connoisseurs of beauty, because beauty was already ingrained in their genes. They searched for beauty – be that rare bloom, exotic perfume or an unique dress that flattered their bodies, or unusually cut pieces or jewelry - they loved it all. And Bill was still wondering just how did he end with the French beauty as his girlfriend, despite of him being a Weasley, not having any massive fortune and not being a model material himself. Well, there was his resistance against her allure, but still….

Before he could get any deeper in his dopey musings, the butler came back.

"Master is willing to accept you." The butler said, bowing shallowly, this mysterious smile still on his lips. "If you would follow me…."

"Of course," Dumbledore said amiably, making Bill blink slowly. "Although, if I may ask, where's the young Antares' mother?"

The two remaining wizards cringed at the Dumbledore's tactlessness. Even they were not that dumb to potentially offend one of Carruthers' staff, and a butler at that.

However, the butler's smile was implacable, as if Dumbledore asked him about weather. "I am not privy to answer that question, Mr. Dumbledore." He replied back, his voice kind and mellow, the epitome of cultured butler. " If you, however, are still curious, you may ask the Young Master."

The reply was said so politely it completely rebuffed any further question from the wizards' side. Of course, Dumbledore wanted to ask another one, but Remus' glare made his mouth shut.

The butler led the small group upstairs and then through right corridor. They had taken some twists and turns, before they finally stopped at the big white-painted door. The watched the butler gently knock on the door, before he entered.

"Young Master, Albus Dumbledore wishes to have audience with you." He announced, and then beckoned the four wizards forward.

The four men were confused, as they didn't hear anything that would indicate admission from the so-called Master, but…that wasn't really important at time moment, was it?

The room they entered into was not big, but still exuded the feel of…presence that made it seem much bigger than it was in reality. If they hadn't known better, the four wizards would have thought there was some kind of strange magic at work, but as it was, it was just a room.

The room was painted in ochre paint, with bronze accents here and there, with mahogany floor gleaming softly as it had been polished to perfection. The curtains were made out of deep green velvet with a glint of bronze glinting in the small shards of light.

The fireplace at the right was made from strange stone - dark gray with discreet golden shimmer whenever the light from the merrily crackling flames hit it.

Aside from the shelves, two paintings depicting nature and ornate desk with a small lamp light, there was no other furniture in the room. It gave off an austere feeling, and the four men felt as if they found themselves in front of the judge for some reason - the only thing that were missing were a gavel and jury.

However, their eyes didn't look long around the room – the two previous occupants were much more important, and dare they say, interesting for their visual perusal.

And here he was… the one person who had single - handedly caused the furor in the Wizarding world, and hopefully, at the end of their talks, their ally.

"Thank you for accepting us, my bo – " Dumbledore began, with a grandfatherly expression on his old, wizened face.

"Be silent." The youth interrupted Dumbledore, his raspy voice cold. Making both Bill and Remus wince at the rebuke in that scratchy sound. "If you don't care to be polite, in my home, no less, then you best hold your tongue until you begin to speak with some manners. "

" _You - !"_ Bill wanted to strangle the impudent youth, but the single look from that ice cold eye rooted him on his place, much to Moody's amused chuckle, making him silently growl at the old fart. They were not even five minutes in their mission, and it was already bound to be failure, all by Dumbledore's disregard of common courtesies.

"I apologize for the Headmaster's slight, Mister Carruthers." Remus inclined his head in a small bow and inwardly thanked Sirius for drilling him on the procedures to interact with nobility. While the old dog was one to disregard them as frequently as he could get away with it, he still had enough of a foresight to at least tutor his friend in them, if only for Remus to get by, as him being a Werewolf was a tantamount for Remus to be an extra polite, without failings, if he wanted to get by in the wizarding world.

"I don't believe it's your place to apologize for his mistakes, Lupin - if anything, that is only painting him in even worse light that he had started off from. " The youth remarked coldly as he inclined his head. "You said you had some information pertaining my parentage?"

Blunt and to the point. Remus inwardly winced at the rebuke - they certainly weren't gaining any points with young Carruthers, and he sincerely doubted their little talk would get any better.

The youth in front of him was pale, and dressed in a smart ensemble of white shirt with dark blue pullover, the whiteness of his shirt only enhanced with the blackness of his thin tie. It made Remus feel positively under clothed and ashamed of attire of his companions - Bill was in jeans and T-shirt with dragon hide jacket, Moody was in his usual crazy ensemble, and his peg leg, along with the glowing blue eye didn't help him any, and Dumbledore's … eyesore of a robe wasn't even worth a mention. He thanked Merlin that Sirius practically forced him into the dark gray ensemble of a suit, even if it was a little too big on him, making it painfully obvious that it was tailored for someone with higher and stronger built than him.

He sighed. ' _So much for a good first impression.'_ He thought to himself resignedly.

"We recently found out that your father is still alive." He murmured lowly as he carefully watched the young lord's face for any changes.

Much to his chagrin, Antares' face exuded as much interest as a wall of bricks. "Indeed?" The youth muttered silkily. "Why, pray tell, do you think that this… information of yours would be of any value to me?"

Involuntarily, Remus felt his jaw drop. "But, but - " He floundered, searching for words, until he finally blurted out. "Sirius is your family!"

And the bomb was dropped.

However, if they expected the youth to demand for answers, they were to be sorely disappointed.

"I knew that already. And why on Earth would I wish to consort with a known murderer, Mister Lupin?"

_Well, shit._

* * *

Antares watched the four men as he delivered his blow impassively. He had to admit, it was fun to play with their heads, and seeing Re - no, Lupin, being flustered made him secretly gleeful at the man's misery. He remembered, only too well, the wolf's wrongdoings toward him, and why should he make anything for him easier than it should have been?

"But he's innocent!" The redhead - Bill, was it? - blurted out, making him narrow his eye in annoyance. "And he's your family!"

"A family I have lived without until now. " Antares mercilessly slew down the redhead's argument. "I've grown up without him just fine, and I believe there won't be any loss for me not knowing him more besides his name. _Gryffindor Horn Dog_ , I believe he was called. Why should I sully my reputation with his name?"

"Because he's the last of Black family, and you are his heir." Dumbledore interjected smoothly, his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. Antares glared. Being named an Heir by a Head of a Noble family was an honor, and for Carruthers' it would definitely repair some of the reputation one particular horn dog managed to sully with his thoughtless deeds. Even if the said horn-dog was a criminal in the eyes of the Wizarding World.

"I can still contest it." He murmured, interlinking his hands in front of his face.

"I am afraid not, "Dumbledore informed him happily. "Inheritance Charter, year 1943, clause 46, section 8 - if there is a situation when a Noble line is in a danger of dying out, the Head can appoint as the Heir and eventually the next Head of the Noble line the nearest relative by blood – and you, even if you are an illegitimate, still fall under the requirements." He concluded smugly, making Antares' teeth grit together with the feeling of helplessness.

"By the same Charter, illegitimate relatives are also exempt in an effort to keep the line 'pure'", Sebastian's smooth voice purred out, making the wizards jump slightly at his unexpected appearance, and Antares' tense shoulders relaxed minutely. "So by that logic, the next… Heir… should be one Draconis Aurelius Malfoy, I believe his name was. "

"So you have no reason to intrude upon Master Antares' privacy with your…. old news." Mocha-colored eyes shone with sincere light as the pale lips curved up in a mocking smile.

"You are right…" Remus conceded, sighing. "However, Draco Malfoy is already an Heir of the Malfoy line, therefore he's ineligible for the Black title. And before you protest, Nymphadora Tonks doesn't count as she was expelled from the family via her mother's marriage to a Muggle. So like it or not, Mr. Carruthers," he addressed the frowning youth, "You are the Heir of Noble and Ancient House of Black."

A tense silence reigned in the space between them.

"I see." Antares spoke softly. "However that still doesn't change the fact I don't wish to see, much less have contact with convicted felon."

"Sirius is innocent - " Remus began, only to be dismissed with a wave of his hand. "If that were true, he would have already been pardoned, so excuse me if I don't believe your feeble beliefs. Now, if you finished with being a messenger of… _bad news_ ," Antares said the two last words delicately, as if they were something contaminating disease he had to carefully handled lest they spill and cause a disaster, " - then your work here is done. Michaelis, show them out, please."

"But he _is_!" Remus snapped back in an uncharacteristic show of emotion. "You have a Pensieve - I can show you – "

Antares lifted his hand, stopping Michaelis in his tracks. "Show me? " He asked slowly, as if testing words on his tongue. Remus nodded frantically.

Green eye stared into werewolf's orbs, making him fidget uncomfortably.

"Faustus, bring out Veritaserum."

The order rippled a shocked gasp through the wizards.

"That's forbidden!" Bill gasped out, his eyes wide. "Only Winzegamot can allow the use of this potion!"

Mad-Eye only harrumphed. "Clever lad. Don't trust their words." He nodded decisively, as he thumped his peg leg on the wooden floor harshly. "Constant vigilance, I say." The old Auror knew when to cut his losses, and witnessing the young Carruthers verbally dressing down his colleagues was the best fun he had lately. He always thought Dumbledore was getting too big for his robes, but there weren't many people who could show him the error of his ways… and if they by some miracle manage to convince the lad to join the Order, he was looking forward to the next round of head-butting, courtesy of the old fool and that young Antares fellow.

"You think I _care_ about Winzegamot?" Antares asked idly, but his eye was sharp. "And which family, do you think, has the patent rights for this particular potion?"

Bill blinked. "Uh… I don't know?" He admitted sheepishly, as he scratched the back of his head, like some kind of a scolded delinquent.

Mad-Eye snorted. "You are standing in their Manor, dumbass."

Bill stared at the old man blankly, as he tried to tie the facts together. "Manor…" Then it dawned on him. "You mean _Carruthers_?!" He yelped out incredulously.

"Of course Carruthers, who else?" Mad-Eye bit out harshly. "Were you sitting on your ears when you were taught Potions, boy? Everyone knows that the family who patents a particular potion, can use it as they wish, within reason. Case in point, Prewetts, Carruthers and Snapes, along with Peverels are only ones of the more known ones. "

"Wait, _Prewetts_?" Bill interjected. "Mum didn't tell me anything about that!"

"She wouldn't." Mad-Eye grunted out. "Annelise Prewett invented Amortentia. Now, shall we get on with it? We don't have whole day to waste!"

"Of course." Faustus spoke, making the wizards jump again - seriously, what was with the Carruthers' butlers - did they derive some sadistic amusement from scaring their guests out of their wits?

"My dear - Carruthers," Dumbledore quickly caught himself. "I really don't think this is necessary."

"You're not helping your case, old man." Antares snapped back, making the small entourage tense again. "For that matter, I find it suspicious you came along with Lupin. Don't you have any better things to do than trying to convince me to give the would-be convict a chance, Supreme Mugwump?"

Involuntarily, both Remus and Bill cringed under the onslaught of the young man's sharp words. And the sad thing, when they thought about it, it was true.

"Alas, I do," Dumbledore agreed solemnly. "However, I do owe Sirius a favor, and if bringing you back would help the dear boy to recover sooner, I am all for it. "

"Now you are just delegating me to a place of a chill pill," Antares grumbled sourly, much to the amusement of his two butlers. "Never mind. Lupin, you have one chance to convince me you speak the truth. Will you, or will you not take the Veritaserum?"

The werewolf blinked. "Of - of course!" he hurried to assure the young man that was Sirius' sole chance for redemption.

"Right." The youth muttered back. "Faustus, administer the potion."

The silent, bespectacled butler stepped forward, and for some reason, Remus' wolf cringed away. Or tried to, at any rate - a strong hand gripped his jaw and yanked it down and before Remus even knew what was happening, he felt tasteless liquid touch is tongue. And then, everything blurred.

"Wha - _Hey!_ You didn't even - !" Bill snapped as the bespectacled butler supported the drugged man. "He gave consent, , and that was enough for me." The bespectacled butler replied back smoothly. "Besides, my Master doesn't have all day to solely entertain you and your ilk. "

The redhead bristled at the veiled insult from butler's pale lips - really, the entire episode here was just a nerve-wracking test, one after another, and even if they were still here, Bill couldn't help but think they had utterly failed somewhere - but the most damning thing was, he didn't know exactly where that should have been.

Even if he was all for Sirius having at least one member of his family back, Bill was now seriously rethinking his opinions on the matter - Antares Carruthers was cold, uncaring and ruthless and despite of Dumbledore's convictions, clearly unwilling to get to know his father. If they hadn't needed him - desperately needed him, Bill would have said fuck it and left the miserable sod to enjoy being an utter bastard all by his lonesome, but as always, Sirius just had to jump the gun and they were now left with the onerous duty to convince the said miserable sod to … deepen the familial ties with his father.

And all of this happened just because one R.J. Lupin just had to point out the flea-bitten idiot somehow managed to sire a son.

"State your name." The bespectacled butler continued as if he didn't just insult the redhead.

The man's dull eyes blinked sluggishly.

"Remus John Lupin." He answered dully, his voice slow.

"Who did you come with to Antares Carruthers?" The butler asked next, the question both relieving and baffling the guests.

"Mad-Eye Moody. Dumbledore. Bill Weasley."

Right, that part was true.

"What are your intentions about Antares Carruthers?"

The question jerked Bill's attention back to the butler. "Hey! He didn't agree to that!" He interjected, but a sharp glare from those unusual golden eyes silenced him.

"It's a completely legitimate question, idiot," Mad-Eye mumbled, clearly enjoying the confusion. "Constant Vigilance, I say." Bill scowled mutinously, liking the whole affair less and less as the time went by.

He should have known something was wrong when he didn't found his favorite amulet in the morning.

"Inform him about his heritage. Take him back to Sirius." Lupin's answer was concise… but so much could have gone wrong it made Bill's teeth hurt from clenching his jaw.

If that butler asked anything else…. They would have been boned.

Order of the Phoenix was, after all, a secret organization, and if Antares somehow found out that information... He shuddered to even think about that.

"Was Sirius Potter's Secret Keeper?"

"No. Switched with Peter Pettigrew."

"Enough." Antares' voice was even grittier that it had been at the beginning. Giving a sharp nod, Faustus administered the antidote, making the man cough at the sharp taste of the liquid, but a moment later, brown and amber eyes cleared out.

"Is that enough of a proof for you?" Dumbledore asked politely as he stroked his beard gently.

"It only proves the incompetence of Winzegamot." Antares replied back shortly. To his credit, Dumbledore just smiled at the youth's caustic answer. " If I may, why didn't you want to use Pensieve to view the concrete proof of Sirius' innocence?" He asked kindly, blue eyes twinkling questioningly.

Antares sighed. "Because I am still recovering, and besides, this was more efficient and reliable. " He released his hands from their position in front of his mouth, wearily lifting his right hand up to massage his temple, as he closed his eye in an effort not to see the four annoyances in front of him.

And truly, when they looked at the youth more closely, he was unnaturally pale, and his lips were fairly bloodless, which had, along with his gaunt face, given the credibility to his reason.

Dumbledore frowned. "I am sorry to hear that. But perhaps Poppy – "

"Do you seriously want to suggest I am incompetent in taking care of myself?" The young man asked stiffly, green eye flashing dangerously, and for a moment, Remus was reminded of Berenice when some dumb douchebag tried to woo her. Namely, one dumb douchebag called Sirius Orion Black. Berenice's spats with Sirius were legendary, just like Sirius' playboy tendencies.

"Of course not, "Dumbledore smoothly backpedalled. "However, your recovery could be speed up if you allow us to take you to your father."

Antares snorted. That was a load of bullshit and all of the present knew it.

"Also, your mother would rest easier if you had proper medicinal attention."

"Both Faustus and Michaelis are proficient enough. " Antares snapped back. "And for your information, my mother is dead. Now get out of my sight and don't come back!"

Remus flinched at the fury in the youth's voice. Truly, Dumbledore seemed to step on every mine available on that particular minefield.

"What happened?" He asked, only to be subjected to that terrible green eye.

"Six months ago, some Death Eaters managed to abduct me and my mother. Because they thought we were Muggles, they …'played' with us." Antares's voice switched to a deadened one, making Bill and Remus wince with sympathy. Everyone knew what Death Eaters 'plays with their victims entailed, and it wasn't pleasant.

"Faustus and Michaelis managed to find and rescue us. They nursed us back to health but my mother, may she rests in peace, succumbed to her wounds a week ago." Antares narrated dully. "Myself, I am still under the orders of strict rest and using no magic."

"So that's why you used your gun in Diagon Alley." Bill concluded quietly, now feeling pretty wretched about his antipathy toward the young man. Antares gave a sharp nod. "Exactly."

"I am sorry. I didn't know." Remus mumbled, hanging his head contritely.

"You didn't need to." The answer was sharp and to the point.

"But if you escaped… you are now in danger from the Death Eaters." Mad-Eye pointed out logically. "I understand your distaste of the flea-bitten mongrel, but the fact is, his house is the best bet for you to recover. Your butlers, good as they may be, can't be attentive 24/7 – "

' _You have no idea,'_ Antares mused sourly. ' _If anything, they are_ _too_ _attentive!'_

" - and sooner than later, they will find out where you live, and with the shit you call protection you have on your Manor now, you will be in their clutches, squealing like little piggy in no time."

Electrically blue eye rotated wildly as Mad-Eye stomped to the sitting youth.

"Lad, it takes balls of steel to survive through those games. And if nothing else, I like you for how you used Veritaserum on Lupin. Sneaky, crafty and cunning. And we need that."

The old Auror overheard Dumbledore's warning cough. "I've heard about yer lil' escapade in Diagon. No quarter, just what those bastards deserved. And it would have been a shame to lose you just because you were too stubborn to protect yourself. If nothing else, think of your servants."

Antares had to breathe down a hysterical chuckle as he listened to the Moody's sales pitch _. 'Thinking of his servants'_ , indeed. Those fools didn't have a damned clue.

He looked at his two butlers. Michaelis was smiling his enigmatic smile, and Faustus was a block of ice, as always.

Then, he looked back to the grizzled Auror.

"As long as the mutt won't annoy me. And my butlers will go with me."

His answer brightened the wizards' faces with relief, and in some cases, smugness.

"Of course, my boy." Dumbledore assured him, blue eyes twinkling madly.

Both of the butlers and their master hid their smirks behind their masks.

' _Hook, Line and Sinker.'_

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	12. Riders On The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji or its characters, but this story is mine /evil grin/.
> 
> Summary: He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed.
> 
> Shout Out: Yo. Back from the hospital, with a freshly done chapter. Thank you for your comments and reviews, they made my day when I was confined to the bed and loopy with painkillers. You guys and gals rock... seriously. And thank you for a poem, whoever wrote it, it amused me enough to get my creative juices flowing. The next chapter is in works, but it may be some time before I throw it out to you, Real Life Prerogative.
> 
> Warnings: Introduction of the Order of the Charred Chicken - ahem, Phoenix.

 

* * *

 _Riders on the storm_  
Riders on the storm  
Into this house we're born  
Into this world we're thrown  
Like a dog without a bone  
An actor out alone  
Riders on the storm

_("Riders On The Storm", by The Doors)_

* * *

A week had passed since Dumbledore's somewhat successful visit to one Antares Carruthers and his entourage. In the meantime, there were some talks back and forth, as he tried to convince the youth that living with Sirius was the best and safest option - without his butlers, of course, but much to his dismay, he had to give a couple of concessions to the stone-eyed youth.

One of them, and also the most noticeable was to have his two… servants - butlers, as they preferred to be called, with him. The centenarian wizard tried to twist out of this particular deal with saying that Grimmauld Place was too small **,** what with all the people housed within, but Michaelis pointed out that this was a bald-faced lie - politely, of course, as the Blacks in the peak of their power, could house at least three times the entire entourage that was now housed within, and politely asked just why would it be a problem to house three additional people. When Dumbledore answered that Antares'… servants could make other people uncomfortable, as the time for having servants was way past, and it would have been unfair to the others housed within the Grimmauld to do their tasks while the two butlers would do Antares' share of work, along with theirs, thus breeding resentment towards Antares.

At that, the mocha-eyed butler smiled, mild as milk, and questioned why Dumbledore would house people who would be senseless enough to force a sick person to work their share. And besides, wasn't the Wizarding world still dependent on house elves?

Three reasons as for why should Antares keep his servants had steamrolled Dumbledore's feeble attempts at getting the youth into his sphere of influence, much to his dismay and Mad-Eye's entertainment. The old Auror was not so blind as to refuse to see Dumbledore's mistakes, and with the Dark side metaphorically encroaching upon the Light side's territory, the old man really should watch out just which battlefields he was choosing.

Antares had talked himself a week to get the things in order, much to Remus's half-dismay and half-relief. On one hand, the werewolf wanted to see Sirius' reunion with his son, and at the other, he dreaded it, as Antares was nothing like Sirius and if he had to compare him with anyone, it would have been - shudder - one Severus Snape.

Molly, of course, was excited to have another mouth to feed and commiserated on the poor dear's injuries, while the kids were curious about the Hero of Diagon Alley - one Ronald Bilius Weasley was jealous of the kid for having two butlers, Hermione was curious about his heritage, and Ginny Weasley was blushing at the photo of the bespectacled butler she was hiding under her pillow. The twins were not here as they had to deal with their little joke shop, Gabrielle was sulking because she was forced to room with Fleur to make a room for the newcomers and the other adults were…. Apprehensive. Of course, Moody liked the kid, but Bill didn't and Remus was on the thin red line between the two. Sirius was just ecstatic -walking around and bragging about his kid one moment, and the next, he was fretting about being a good father. He had wrangled all the possible answers from Remus - what the kid looked like, what he liked, his preferred food and so on, making Remus irritated enough to contemplate strangling the flea-bitten mutt at several occasions.

One week of anticipation, apprehension and nervousness as all of them prepared to make the best impression possible on the newest addition to Grimmauld household.

"So when did he say he would come again?" Ron asked as he nervously twiddled with a white knight figure. He and Hermione were playing - or attempting to play - a chess match in an effort to stave off the boredom, while Ginny was curled on the couch and reading some romance novel while she too sneaked glances at the old clock on the wall.

They were gathered in a living room that had been scrubbed, polished and dusted just for this occasion - Molly had made them go through the ringer to achieve that kind of cleanliness, much to the teens' dismay, but the results showed, even if the room was still shabby looking **,** what with the antique furniture and old, washed out carpets and curtains in random hues of browns, reds and the colors in between . The weather outside was rainy for most of the day, and all three of them feared that Antares would change his mind and not come as he promised he would – he was still recovering from his… illness, and traveling in that kind of weather would be counterproductive to his attempts to get healthy again.

Hermione was clothed in a modest ensemble of blue jeans and a soft peach pullover with a motif of flowers stretching from her right hip to her left shoulder, made from differently colored and sized beads. It was an old thing, a little stretched too, but it was warm and comfortable enough for Hermione to proclaim it her favorite piece of clothing, the ensemble from the Yule Ball in the fourth year notwithstanding. Her hair was untamable as usual, and looking a little bit frizzier than usual in her attempt to get it into some semblance of curls.

Ron was tall and lanky, his hair still in the same style as usual, and he was clothed in dark brown leather trousers - borrowed from Bill - and a red short-sleeved shirt with _Chudley Cannons_ logo emblazoned in vivid orange across his chest. Molly had protested against it, but Ron was vehement enough to be allowed to wear it, not bothering with long sleeves in an effort to appear tougher, which was a miserable prospect, because despite being lanky, he had almost no muscles to speak about, and so he appeared more of a un-fleshed-out stick than anything else.

Ginny was a surprise. The youngest redhead was clothed in a knee-length deep blue skirt - borrowed from Hermione – and a white and black cotton shirt with a violet short-sleeved blouse underneath, with the ends of the white cotton shirt being tied on her stomach to make her appear sexier. Her hair was longer now and bound in a loose mermaid tail, with two locks in front of her face as to emphasize her pixie-like features. Usually the Weasley tomboy of a girl didn't give much attention to being feminine, but since seeing that photo of one glasses-wearing hottie of a Carruthers' in the Daily Prophet, her interests had switched into making herself pretty - even more so, since she found out said hottie would be living with them!

"Three in the afternoon, Ron." Hermione replied faux-patiently. Inside, she held himself back not to scream at the idiot - this was his sixth question in the half an hour and really, if Ron asked once more, she would buy Neville's latest concoction and force-feed it to him!

"Yeah." Ginny whispered to herself, a faint blush on her cheeks as she curled even more. She swallowed a ball of dread in an attempt to make herself calmer, but it didn't help. Just a little more, and she would see that dreamy man in person… She shivered, flushing even more.

* * *

Hermione eyed the playing board with disgust. The pieces were curiously silent, but that was because she lost her temper and Silenced them - she didn't need their disparaging remarks, thank you very much! Yes, she wasn't greatest player ever, but that still didn't give the animated pieces of wood the right to criticize her moves left, right and center! However, if the only other possibility was to play Exploding Snap…she would have taken chess anytime any day over that dirty excuse for cards. She still couldn't believe that Ron of all people managed to wheedle her into playing chess - but being besotted just had that kind of … power over people. They had been a couple for three months already, which included snogging, some groping and some cuddling and her being curiously malleable to her darling's suggestions. Now, if only she could get him to enjoy a book or two, the romance would have been perfect. Sadly, that remained a kind of a pipe dream…

Her thoughts switched to Sirius' heir.

It had been such a shock to find out that Sirius, a notorious horn dog had an offspring that it wasn't even funny. Sirius swore upside down he hadn't known about that, and Hermione was inclined to believe him, but that just raised another slew of questions.

Why hadn't Berenice told him about the baby? Why did she vanish to gods-knew-where and reared the boy herself? Of course, Ron told her that… bastard children were heavily frowned upon in the Wizarding world, but still! And from Remus' stories, she gleaned that Antares was the same age as both her and Ron… so why didn't he attend Hogwarts? He was a British citizen, wasn't he?

Remus has tried to explain that too - sometimes, it was really rare, the invited child declined the invitation to attend, because of various reasons. They had already entered school elsewhere, were home-schooled or simply didn't have enough money to pay for schooling. Muggleborns were lucky in that regard, as they were funded from Hogwarts' funds, but the kids that lived in the Wizarding World had to be financially supported by their parents, no ifs, ands or buts about it. This was also the reason for the Weasley family's poor state of wealth, besides them losing the majority of their assets in the first war. But as far as she knew, the Carruthers were not poor… not in any sense of a world, so why? Of course, she had heard about the scandal, but it didn't make any sense. Yes, so Antares was conceived out of the wedlock. So what? Many kids nowadays were and no one raised a fuss about it. When she mentioned that to Ron, he eyed her pityingly. "The core of Wizarding world is family. No matter how poor or how rich you are, if you are born out of wedlock, you can't go very far," he told her self-importantly. "So most of the bastard kids can either work only the lowest paying jobs or try their luck in the Muggle World." Of course, Hermione disagreed with such a view, but this was the grim-faced reality of the society she was now a member of.

And if Antares came back, he would have been accepted as a pariah… despite his noble blood. That was another thing that piqued her curiosity. Before their fall out of grace by their heiress'… tomfoolery, the Carruthers were a respected family with both power and prestige in the Wizengamot. They, along with the Greengrass family held the so-called Grey block - they were neutral, as in not allying with the Light or Dark side permanently. When they voted, their votes counted because most of the time, they decided whether the law or decree would be passed or not. However, one night of… passion reduced their state from a respected family into one of disgrace and making a vacuum of power in Winzegamot, thus prompting the balances of Light and Dark to swing around wildly, from one side to another. It also didn't help that some families that supported the Grey block were assimilated into either the Dark or Light side, thus making the already bad situation even worse.

But now, there appeared the new Carruthers heir, who could potentially wash the disgrace off his family's name and to top of it all, he was also recognized by the head of the Black family as his heir. The already unstable political world was now thrown in further tumult by the appearance of the possible new power on the stage. To make the things even more confused, he was the heir of one of the darkest families and the white sheep of the said dark family, which made the chances of him being either Dark- or Light-inclined evenly divided, and with the remains of the Gray block in the Winzegamot…Hermione wasn't one for politics, but even she understood that Antares Carruthers had become the lynchpin for changes that would either make or break the already crumbling status quo between the allied families.

And now, their mission was to convince the cold heir to lend a hand to their cause.

She blinked as she felt a knight prod her hand with a tiny sword, a scowl on his tiny wooden face.

"Hm?" She asked absentmindedly. "Oh, yeah. My turn." She mumbled and carelessly moved the runner, much to his indignant expression, which then turned into a horror when Ron's peasant gleefully gutted him.

Yes, Hermione felt particularly evil and didn't even try to win anymore.

Suffer, little soldiers. Suffer.

_Mwahaha._

* * *

The time ticked and tocked onward, making them both more disappointed and relieved at the same time.

Will he come? Or not?

They waited, Ron's scowl becoming even more thunderous as he moved restlessly on his seat, while Ginny looked like a kicked puppy.

Four o' clock.

They heard a distant thunder.

"HOW DARE YOU DRAG INTO OUR NOBLE HOUSE THAT BASTARD FILTH OF YOURS!?"

Mrs. Black's screech was unmistakable and filled with scorching hot fury.

They jerked upward.

"You think he's here?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"No duh." Ron snorted derisively.

Looking at each other, the three of them simultaneously jumped up and ran to the door.

Whoever managed to get in such an apoplectic rage was worthy of more than just a passing glance.

* * *

Antares was not amused. The reception was as… inhospitable as he expected it to be, but apparently he forgot just how screechy Sirius – no, Black's mother could be.

Both of his butlers cringed minutely at the loud voice, but they held their composure, although Sebastian's dark smile boded nothing well for the painting… just as soon as he got his hands and possibly claws on it.

The journey wasn't the most pleasant around, what with the sudden rainstorm, which didn't help Antares' mood any as he was already disgruntled as he was to live with the sorry excuses for traitors, and would have to be - oh, the horror of all horrors - civil to them. Well, as civil as a Carruthers' heir could be, and that was… _barely_. They needed his help, but he didn't need theirs. So he wouldn't even try to be any more courteous as he should have been, and if they trip on their tongues, this was their sole fault, and he won't do anything to redeem their… excuses for befriending him.

He was aware that Dumbledore thought him to be susceptible to his suggestions, what with him agreeing to stay in Grimmauld place, even if he had to allow his two butlers to be housed with him. No doubt the old man would try to get him even further under his thumb what with letting him consort with that dumb dog of his and the brats and trying to hold him as far as possible from the Order meetings.

Shame that he didn't know Antares Carruthers better.

The Grimmauld place was as shabby looking as ever, causing Faustus to frown minutely and Michaelis paused for a scant second.

"Do they really think we would live in this… dump?" he asked delicately, out of hearing range of one Bill Weasley.

"Apparently." Antares answered dryly. The rain poured heavily upon them, making them acutely aware of the raindrops that were showered upon their bodies in torrents of tiny floods. There was a blinding flash and then, the thunder exploded with its thunderous roar, making the two demons cringe with the loud sound.

They were clad in dark gray raincoats, as the wind was howling around the corners, so the sophisticated approach of using umbrellas against the rain would be utterly useless. Weasley was in a much worse position, using the umbrella that was only marginally protecting him from the rainfall. Both butlers also carried the luggage, while Antares was allowed only a middle-sized handbag and a cane.

"Come on!" Bill called out as he gestured them to follow him. Antares followed him first, with the two demons turned butlers doubtfully following him.

The door creaked ominously as they entered the dimmed antechamber, which didn't exactly impressed them - Antares because he acutely remembered the damned thing, and the butlers because they were not exactly enthused with their new lodgings. All right, in their long lives, they had stayed in a variety of accommodations, from the dumps, which was rarely, to the modest houses and palaces which beauty was breathtaking to see. And this…wherever they were now, could only be classified as a dump, and Sebastian expected a rat scurrying around the corner any moment now. Maybe he would manage to persuade someone to get a cat…

And then, the demons' ears were assaulted with the worst shriek ever.

"HOW DARE YOU DRAG INTO OUR NOBLE HOUSE THAT BASTARD FILTH OF YOURS!?"

The feminine – nay, a banshee voice echoed in the antechamber, making the two demon butlers glare heatedly at the cause of the racket. And to their surprise, it was a…. portrait?

"Mrs. Black -" Bill tried to placate the incensed woman, but it didn't bode too well with his efforts.

"SHUT UP, YOU OLD HAG!" Another voice roared out, this time distinctly masculine. "I WILL INVITE IN MY HOUSE WHOEVER THE HELL I WANT! SO GO DIE IN A HOLE - WAIT, YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD! NOBODY LISTENS TO YOU, RESPECTS YOU OR EVEN REMEMBERS YOU, SO WHY DON'T YOU DO US ALL A FAVOR AND LEAVE THE AFFAIRS OF THE LIVING TO THOSE WHO ACTUALLY HAVE A LIFE?" The voice became even louder as its owner neared the source of the commotion.

The portrait squawked with outrage. "WHY YOU, I DIDN'T RAISE YOU TO BE SUCH A HOODLUM - OH, WHAT A DISGRACE HAS THE ESTEEMED AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK FALLEN INTO!"

The dark-clad man thundered down the stairway, along with a small entourage of onlookers.

With a decisive flick of his wand, the curtains covered the portrait, whose furious shriek of outrage was greatly muffled behind the enchanted fabric.

He had shoulder-length dark brown hair with some white streaks at the temples, wavy and a little bit too messy to be thought as an intentionally sexy-hairdo. He was clothed in dark gray trousers with a deep red shirt with open black vest, made from untreated leather with dark blue fur at its edges. An unusual choice of … clothes especially as the visitors were under impression most of the wizards didn't know much about modern clothes. When he turned to the newcomers, his sharp – profiled face revealed wrinkles on the forehead, subtle lines around his mouth and bags under his eye. The man's blue-gray eyes were dull, as if he lacked the proper amount of sleep, but somewhere within them, there was still a spark of… something. He was freshly shaved, apparently in an effort to make a good impression. The man smiled sheepishly.

"Heh. I am sorry for the… reception. I assure you it wasn't intended." He smiled sheepishly, but his smile was somewhat strained as he looked at the group. His eyes immediately sought out Antares, and when they found him, they widened, and the man's face became hopeful. "Antares, right?" he asked.

Antares only inclined his head. "Indeed, Mr. Black." The curt answer made the old dog flinch back as if struck, but then he bounced back. "You look like Benny…. You have her cheekbones." He murmured lowly, expecting an answer. When he didn't get it, he perused the boy's - his boy's! What a strange thought, - servants.

The two of them were tall and swathed within their coats, still holding their masters' luggage, which indicated them to be Muggles…. Or at least Squibs. Honestly, using a house elf would have been more prudent, but for some reason Antares deployed his two human servants to do away with more menial tasks. The two butlers in question saw a flash of reluctant… dislike in the man's eye as he looked over them and judged their usefulness to Antares. Well, it was understandable, what with the Diagon Alley fiasco…

"So get yourself out of your rain cloaks –" The three newcomers sweat dropped. Seriously? Were they so backwards as not to know that it was raincoats? – "leave the luggage to Kreacher and come to the kitchen. You must be hungry- it was a long day after all, eh?"

"Will do." Antares murmured out, and with that done, the two butlers put the luggage on the floor and reached up to free themselves from the rain-sodden garments.

Smoothly, the cowls were eased back, and the dark gray fabric gave way to the black butler uniforms.

 _"Eek!"_ There was a yelp, that made the two butlers sharply turn their heads to the origin of the voice, only to discover a blushing teenaged redhead girly trying to meld into shadows, her cheeks red with mortification, while both the bushy haired girl and the lanky, red-haired boy stared at them with undisguised curiosity. They tried to shrink back into the shadows, but no matter, they were already noted… and disregarded.

The bespectacled butler wordlessly passed his cloak to the glasses-less one, and then proceeded to disrobe his Master of his own cloak, which was also passed to the latter to hand them somewhere warm to dry.

"If you would call your servant to show me to Young Master's rooms?" The cloak-burdened butler inquired politely, a faint **,** gentle smile hovering on his lips.

"Of course. Kreacher!" The man, now known as Mr. Black agreed, like a starved mutt about to do anything for a scrap of meat.

"What does Mudblood-loving filthy Master wants from Kreacher now?" the small creature grumbled as it eyed Sirius with undisguised amount of loathing.

The two butlers blinked. That was a house elf?

Right rude little creatures they were.

"Cease insulting me and help…." Sirius turned to the cloak-carrying butler sheepishly, as he realized that he didn't know his name. "Michaelis," The butler provided him the name cordially, smiling slightly.

" – Michaelis carry the luggage to the Heir Room, and when he finishes, lead him to the Kitchen. No detours. Am I understood?" Sirius asked sharply.

The creature eyed him with its beady eyes scornfully. "Yes, Master. Kreacher will do as he was ordered." He grated out, nearly making the two butlers wince with his voice. Sullenly, the creature snapped its fingers, and to the butlers amazement, the four coffers were lifted into the air.

"Follow me, humans." The creature spoke out the last world as if it was something filthy, but Michaelis only nodded and did as he was told.

Sirius glared after the retreating back of this… little creature. Kreacher was being an annoyance on purpose and he cursed himself for not remembering just what a pain in the ass this particular house Elf could be, given his… quirky personality.

"Your… staff leaves much to be desired, Mr. Black." The bespectacled man commented, making Sirius twitch. "Don't I know it." The man sighed. "Unfortunately, it would have been too dangerous to let him loose, and so we are subjected to his… antics."

"Why not kill him, then?" The butler suggested, golden eyes flashing as he discreetly supported his Master.

"You think I don't know this?" Sirius grimaced. "No…Just, _no_. The old hag – " he pointed to the covered portrait – " would have caused a racket of epic proportions, and I don't know about you, but I like my peace, thank you very much. So, shall we go?"

The butler inclined his head elegantly. "By all means."

* * *

Meanwhile, Sebastian was following the grouchy little creature, amused by its grumblings and insults. "Filthy Mudblood-loving Master…. Shames the house…. Wish the Mistress could've been alive…" He did notice the creature's strange reluctance to lead him to their destination.

"Kreacher, is there any other room aside from Heir's to accommodate my Master?"

The small creature stilled. "Why do yous want to know that?"

Sebastian smiled. "My Master is not exactly fond of being put into a spotlight, and he is rather… cross with Mr. Black. Also, I see that you for some reason don't wish to have him in that particular room. Any reason?"

The large ears drooped. "Was Master Reggie's room." The old elf whispered. "Master Reggie's room is just like when he left it. Master Reggie killed and left behind poor, old Kreacher – "

Sebastian's mocha-colored eyes narrowed as his brain whirled through the new information. "Okay. Young Master will understand. Now, the room?"

Big eyes looked at him. "Yous serious?"

Sebastian nodded. "Like a heart attack." He promised solemnly, making the old elf snort.

"Filthy doggy master still wants Kreacher to leave Master Reggie's room to …. That master of yous." Kreacher growled out, stomping his small foot against the flow in a fit of temper, the luggage in the air in front of him swaying dangerously.

"Kreacher, he said you to help me carry the luggage to Heir Room, not that my Young Master would be suited in it." Sebastian said silkily, a catty little smile on his pale lips.

Large bulbous eyes widened. "… Filthy Master did say so." Kreacher said slowly, as if something had just dawned on him. The vicious little creature then smiled.

"Kreacher knows just the place." Sebastian nodded, satisfied with his little manipulation. After all, the servants were always a vastly underrated, but very useful allies, especially when one had to entrench themselves in the middle of an enemy's territory.

Besides, the more trouble he could cause, even if inadvertently, to that mutt of a traitor, the better.

* * *

Meanwhile, Antares and Claude followed the mutt to the kitchen.

The house hadn't changed much since the last time - still old, drab but at least marginally cleaner, and Claude frowned disapprovingly at the dust bunnies that were cleverly masquerading as part of the shadows.

This was unacceptable.

And to think they would have to live here for an extended period of time, instead of wide, beautiful and most importantly, clean Trancy Manor? How… shameful.

But it needed to be done.

It was a good thing that Sebastian managed to outfox Dumbledore for them to come - he shuddered to think what his Master's wounds would be like after a prolonged stay in such an unsanitary place.

As that fake Trancy would have said: "Ewww, _yuck._ "

Not the most elegant of the phrases, but it surmised the hypothetical situation quite nicely.

"Everyone, I got someone for you to meet!" Sirius' hyper voice alerted the occupants of the kitchen to the new arrival.

"So they finally hauled their asses here." The well-known growly voice of a paranoid Auror greeted the duo gruffly. "Were you followed?"

"In that rain?" Bill scoffed as he toweled his long locks dry wildly, much to the plump woman's protests. "It's raining cats and dogs out here - I barely saw five feet in front of me! Not to mention the storm!"

"Oh, Beel." The beautiful young woman cooed at the toweling redhead who only shrugged heroically. And, Claude noted absently, she was really beautiful. Not up to the true Succubus, but she did have her share of… womanly charms. Not that they attracted the kumoshitsuji much… he had seen dime a dozen beautiful women in his life, and one more really wouldn't change anything in the greater scheme of things.

The eyes of the gathered people looked at the duo curiously. Antares wanted to fidget, but he firmly remembered himself that this wasn't time to behave like some kind of a scolded child. And there they were.

The traitors.

"Welcome, my boy." The old wizard said joyfully, and Antares twitched.

"That is it?" Another person said incredulously. "This slip of a brat made you wait for him a week before he deigned to visit the mutt's humble abode?" Oh, good old Snape. Nothing escapes his sharp tongue… well, except female's cherry.

"Severus – "Dumbledore began with a long-suffering sigh. The Potions Master was particularly disagreeable on the point of bringing Carruthers into their fold, and after that disastrous trial, the man was almost unbearable to live with. The dear boy was taking his failure of protecting Lily's boy a little to personally, but it couldn't be helped.

"Dumbledore." The quiet voice, half scratch and half hiss of an air made the wizards and witches focus on the youth.

"I don't need you. Remember that."

With that single proclamation, the youth sat down on the chair his butler somehow managed to inconspicuously procure, starting the fireworks of outrage.

"You can't be serious! We need _him!?_ " Snape screamed as he jumped up, the chair behind him clattering on the floor, as he slammed his hands on the desk. His dark eyes were bloodshot and his face was even more sallow than it had been since Antares had seen him last, along with a deep serrated wound on his left cheek that stretched from his temple to the jaw. Idly, Antares wondered just what caused it. The Potions Master was clad in his usual ensemble of black robes, only they were tattered at the edges, as if they had seen too much use lately. Else they did or the man had come directly from the Death Eaters' gathering and he hadn't had time to change his clothes. "I've had to contend with two arrogant brats on a regular basis just because you said so, but I draw the line with this mutt's spawn!"

"My Ronald is not an arrogant brat!" The plump woman shrieked. She had red hair and she was clothed in faded gray skirt and a little stretched out pullover that didn't hide the overly voluptuous nature of her body. She put hands on her hips. "If Dumbledore said they can, they –"

"Molywobbles, dear, please calm – "The redheaded elderly man tried to calm his wife unsuccessfully, as her face became even more ripe that it had already been.

"Shut it, Snape, you are just jealous that I have a son and you failed to protect that murderous brat –"

"Maybe he would have turned out better if he had Pettigrew for his Godfather - at least the rat was too cowardly to outright run into the danger and leave behind helpless little –" Snape sneered back, making Sirius's face livid with anger.

"You slimy-snaked traitorous Death Eater bastard!" Sirius roared as he speedily drew his wand to curse him.

 _"ENOUGH!"_ Dumbledore's voice boomed, stopping the disaster in the making in its tracks.

Antares blinked.

…. Interesting.

Seemed that there was a schism in the oh-so-helpful Order of the Phoenix.

The old wizard was deploying enough magic that all arguing parties were settling back on their places like scolded puppies, some more reluctantly than the others.

"I am disappointed in all of you." The old wizard said, a strain in his usually cheerful voice a mute witness to just how close the warlock was to exploding with anger himself.

"You all knew we would get a guest today, and instead of receiving him cordially and showing him a pleasant time, you two," Blue eyes eyed the two particular men sternly "Manage to make it into your own pissing contest." The two on question winced. Well, Sirius winced, while Snape only flinched and tightened his lips.

"Severus, we need the input of young Weasley and Miss Granger. You see much as a teacher, but it's always good to have a student's perspective."

"Then you should have taken Longbottom. As much of a failure the boy is, he is at least inconspicuous, while these two, being the prefects are anything but." Snape argued back. "Granger is too bossy, and Weasley has anger problems and with the adoring public being on their case – " He sneered, much to the offended mutters of some of the listeners " - they are worst people you could've chosen for monitoring the students for anything suspicious."

Antares listened, impressed. While he still had a strong dislike of a man, he couldn't deny that Snape knew what he was talking about, and it was a surprise to see him speak of Neville in such a positive light... relatively speaking.

"I understand, but it's just because they are under such a spotlight they would be the last people considered to take notes of anything irregular." Dumbledore rebuked the spy placidly, making Antares look at him with disbelief.

Just what was the man smoking to have such an addle-brained idea? Or were those numerous lemon drops some kind of a drug that made him unreasonable in the aspects of warfare?

If you are in the spotlight, you are blinded by the lights, and you can hardly notice the shadows.

Damn. No wonder the Light was losing their ground so quickly.

"And Sirius, this was completely uncalled for." Dumbledore continued, as if he hadn't just defended his decision with the worst argument possible.

Claude forced himself to be still, however much he would have liked to pinch himself. This was like corny dialogue from some D-rated horror movie one of his last masters was so fond of watching.

The look at his Master's face mutely stated the same, before the youth quickly schooled his mask back on.

"When I agreed to come here I expected to be treated with courtesy and respect." Antares rasped out. "Instead of that, you are calling me out as if I were your dog and not a person from whom you requested a favor. We are not family. We are not friends. We are not colleagues. We are acquaintances, and I expect to be addressed appropriately." Antares said, his voice cold.

"But - !" Sirius tried to interject, but then the bespectacled butler raised his head.

"It is as Young Master said. Even if he is younger than me, it would have been impolite of me to address him anything else than Master." The golden-eyed butler explained stoically, making the mutt deflate almost visibly. "I don't care what kind of trouble you have with Granger and Weasley, but keep my Master out of it." He addressed Snape, who only sneered in return.

Seemed that the Massacre of Diagon was already a well-known topic among the Death Eaters.

"Right!" Sirius interjected with a forced smile on his lips. "Anyway, everyone, meet my son and Heir, Antares Carruthers and his servant– " he turned to Antares for a name - "Faustus." The butler supplied as he elegantly bowed his head. "-Faustus." Sirius repeated doubtfully but he turned back to the crowd. "They will be with us for some time, so I hope we all will get along."

"Pleased to meet you." Claude intoned indifferently, while Antares only inclined his head, earning some weirded out looks for his choice of communication.

"So you already know Moody, Remus and Bill," Sirius continued blithely, as he pointed to the woman in Bill's embrace. "This lovely maiden is Fleur Delacour, Bill's fiancée -" The girl in question smiled. _"Enchanté."_ She murmured, but Sirius was relentless. "We also have along her little sister, Gabrielle, but she is currently upstairs, along with the three other kids. Next, we have Molly Weasley, our resident cook – "Molly smiled at Antares tightly, with a small shred of disapproval in her eye, "- the redheaded man beside her is Arthur, her husband and resident collector of anything Muggle, " Sirius then pointed at the pink-haired… snout-nosed woman grandly " And she here is She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Called-By-Her-Name, aka Remus' fiancée , but you can call her just Tonks. Dung is outside right now, but you can't miss him, he stinks of Firewhisky, and you already know the hook-nose." Sirius explained blithely, making Snape snarl at him with irritation, not that the old dog cared. "And I am… your father, Sirius Black. So… Pleased to meet you." He offered the hand to Antares, who stared at it as if it were something alien, making Sirius drop his hopeful smile and after a moment, he attempted to retract it, only to feel the slender, cool hand grasp it, making his lips widen in a blissful grin.

"And I… am Antares Carruthers." Antares said slowly, before he released his hand, not that it managed to dim Sirius' goofy grin any less. "You mentioned you house three children?" he inquired curiously.

"Ah, that would be young Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Ronald's sister, Ginevra Weasley, called Ginny." Dumbledore answered, a grandfatherly smile on his lips as he stroked his beard.

Dark eyebrow quirked. "Reason?" The Carruthers' heir asked flatly. "The Weasleys are prominent Light family and as such a target of Death Eaters." Remus explained softly in an attempt to stop Dumbledore's tries of lording over the young man that was Black heir. "Hermione is a close friend of Ronald's and she also managed to cause a significant damage to the Dark forces. She's also a Muggleborn."

"Ah." Antares nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Tell them not to disturb me or my butlers, because we don't appreciate snoopy kids around where we don't wish them." He could see Molly puff out with indignation. Did he care? No.

"What my Master wants to say is that he is still recovering from his injuries and he would appreciate if he wouldn't be bothered by the children in the meantime." A new voice interjected, making half of the Order jump on their chairs, and the other half aim their wands at the source.

"Everyone, meet Michaelis, the second butler of the House of Carruthers." Claude muttered, making the people sigh with relief and irritation, while those mocha-colored eyes narrowed for a fleeting moment- so fleeting it seemed an illusion.

"Pleased to meet you," the now-named butler spoke out, his voice whiskey-smooth as he shallowly bowed to soon-to-be housemates.

"Why does 'ee 'as 'ee butlerz?" Fleur asked curiously while she eyed the butler duo with a sharp eye. If she weren't already promised, she would have tried her luck with the two exemplary specimens of the male species, but alas, she had her Bill now, and Veelas, even if they appreciated beauty, didn't go as far as to be unfaithful when they found their mates. And besides, those… _butlers_ …made Fleur's proverbial feathers ruffle for some reason and it made her a little bit more cautious than before.

"Carruthers don't have house elves, as they live in the mundane world. Instead, they have butlers to take care of their needs and wants." Sebastian explained candidly, smiling politely at the beautiful girl.

Sirius blinked. "Really? I didn't know that," he mused, earning a flat look from his so-called son. "Well, at least it is better than having a Kreacher - the damned thing is a nuisance to everyone. We had to clean everything by hand because Kreacher refused to do so." He sighed with aggravation.

"You still live," Antares deadpanned flatly, making Sirius bark with laughter.

"Did Kreacher accommodate you properly?" He then asked Sebastian, smiling goofily. "Of course," Sebastian nodded politely. "Everything seems to be in order, except…" Sirius' face fell at the 'but' clause in the sentence.

"Except?" Sirius prodded, unhappy. "If he did anything –"

"No, it's nothing like that," Sebastian defended. "If I may, where would be our lodgings?"

The wizards blinked dumbly.

"Your lodgings?" The pink-haired woman repeated, confused. "Well, yes…. Kreacher assured me that the elf quarters were decisively too small for someone of our… heights," Sebastian told to the public candidly, making Sirius snort incredulously.

"The menace told you that?" he asked incredulously. "Just what have you done to make him speak without curses?"

Sebastian looked at the mutt that masqueraded as his Master's father. "Asked him." He told the man politely, a small smile on his lips, as he saw the man screw his face in the grimace of confusion mixed with exasperation.

"Asked him." The Bill said flatly. "Sirius has trouble to just make the menace to obey the simplest of orders, and you just ask and Kreacher answers? I don't believe you."

Sebastian chuckled. "Ah… that would be a servant prerogative." He tilted his head on the side, eyes in two happy upside-down crescents.

"Enough. Where will you have them to lodge?" Antares' quiet, raspy voice interrupted the interplay, turning the attention back to the one-eyed youth.

"Well…" Sirius coughed. "There is one more room currently livable enough… and if you are comfortable with the amount of purple in it…." He trailed off, embarrassed.

Claude eyed the man. "Is something else wrong with it?" he asked flatly, making Fleur giggle with mirth.

Sirius coughed in his hand. "It was my Mother's room." He made a face. "Live in it at your own risk."

"Well, then I will room with Master Antares, and Claude can have the room of doom for himself," Sebastian interjected happily, making the bespectacled butler glare at him.

"No. It would be better if I were rooming with Young Master." Claude spoke calmly, if not a little stiffly. "I believe it's my duty as Master's first butler."

The two butlers glared at each other, making the wizards stare at them with amusement, curiosity, and in some cases, disgust.

"Surely they could live somewhere else," The old coot tried to persuade the again, but judging by the flat stare both of the butlers sent at him, this option was…

"Not. Negotiable." The ex-Trancy butler replied with the steeliest voice possible, making the wizards shudder and Bill face palm at the Headmaster penchant for scheming.

"I fear I must agree with my colleague," Sebastian purred out gently, but none of the present could have mistaken this smooth tone for anything less than veiled threat. "Young Master needs the 24/7 care, and I am not so foolish as to leave him in your… capable… hands." He waved his own appendage as if to mock the wizards further, making them bristle.

"Besides, Dumbledore already agreed to us lodging here." He continued, as if perfectly unaware that he managed to insult the wand-wavers. "And what should we think if he suddenly went back on his world, hmmm?"

"That was not my intention, Mr. Michaelis." Dumbledore replied back with placating tone. "My concern was merely the comfort of all involved, especially Mr. Carruthers."

"Bullshit." Moody's little cough didn't exactly cover the small word he had mouthed out, much to the amusement of the three new residents.

Antares sighed. "Michaelis and Faustus will both room in the… late dame's room." He decided, much to Sebastian's faintly wounded look. Claude only narrowed his eyes. "I will demand privacy - except in emergency, none of you will enter the rooms we inhabit, and in my case, you have to get my butlers' permission.

"That is preposterous!" The red-headed woman huffed out.

"That is civility." Antares barbed back. "Or are you telling me you and your lot were raised so badly you don't know the meaning, nor the use of it?"

He tapped the cane against the floor sharply, making the woman seethe helplessly under his hard, empty gaze.

"Of course, Mr. Carruthers." The red-haired man said softly. "We understand. Don't we, Molly?" A warning look to his otherwise loud wife made her nod mutinously.

"Splenidid! Now if we finished the courtesies let's –"

Whatever Dumbledore tried to say, it was interrupted with the door opening and three heads poking in.

"I'm sorry, are we interrupting something?" The bushy - haired girl asked, a faux-confused expression on her face.

"Nosy little brats." Snape's sullen mutter was overshadowed by Dumbledore's cheerful "Not at all, come in. We were in the middle of introductions anyway."

"Of course, Headmaster." Hermione nodded shyly and the three of them stepped in, all of them looking at the three newcomers curiously.

Ginny was flushing as she looked at the bespectacled butler who muttered something in his Master's ear, while the other one just smiled at them politely.

"And those are Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley and Ron Weasley." Dumbledore introduced them to the unimpressed youth.

The three teens looked at the cane-holding youth curiously – Hermione's gaze was one of a fervent scholar - Antares didn't doubt she would tried to interrogate him to find out everything about the Carruthers, while Ron was more mutinous and dark, switching between jealousy and admiration. Ginny wasn't looking at him much, and Antares exhaled a small sigh of relief - the redheaded girl was the one who could potentially oust him to the Order because of her knowledge of his looks - granted, he had changed thoroughly, what with the adoption ritual and whatnot, but there still existed a possibility, no matter how minuscule it seemed to be.

Thankfully, the chit was too occupied with Claude, and Antares could predict many hours of teasing for Sebastian's amusement.

"Hello." Hermione smiled easily as she offered him the hand, only for Antares to narrow his eye at her.

"Good evening." He reiterated curtly. "Can't say it is my pleasure."

"Antares!" The red-haired matron tried to rebuke him, only for the cold gaze to zero on her.

"You're not my mother. Shut up." The Carruthers Heir told her flatly, making her flush with mortified indignation.

"Now, now, Mr. Carruthers. She is only trying to be polite." Dumbledore spoke disapprovingly, blue eyes glinting with disappointed light.

"I will when they cease to eavesdrop." Antares stood up slowly, making the three teens blush with shame. "I am tired and I wish to rest."

"As you wish." Dumbledore nodded grandly as he stroked his beard. "You certainly need it to recover from your… afflictions."

Antares nodded sharply. "Michaelis, lead the way." He ordered, and with a small bow, the mocha-eyed butler led the Master and his colleague out of the room.

When the newcomers left the room, the occupants turned to Dumbledore.

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" Bill asked flatly as he cradled Fleur to himself.

Wizened blue eyes were hid by glaring lenses of the owner's glasses.

"Good idea? Yes. We need all the help we could get. Antares is just a little… antisocial." The old wizard murmured, but his murmur was heard by all present.

"He is not like Berenice." Arthur interjected, frowning thoughtfully as he perused his memories. "I am sure she would've raised her child better than… that." He nodded toward the closed door.

"Of course not, but with extenuating circumstances in play, we should forgive the boy." Dumbledore agreed, troubled.

"What extenuating circumstances are you speaking of?" Hermione asked, frowning as she bit her lip. She had recovered from the embarrassment of being found out so easily and even if she was still embarrassed, her curiosity right now was overshadowing the lingering feelings of embarrassment.

"He was tortured." Bill cut straight to the chase, making the females gasp with horror, while the males cringed. "Bill! They are still kids!" Molly chastised her son, frowning. "They –"

"- Shouldn't have been here in the first place." Bill interrupted her, his scarred face serious. "But they are and we are not doing them any favors with mollycoddling them." Brown eyes looked over the three teens whose own orbs were wide with horror and fascination. "Sooner than later they will find out these are no kiddie games, and personally, I would rather have them safe with knowledge than in danger because they knew jack shit about real world."

A tense silence reigned in the room.

"What kind of torture?" Ron asked recklessly, his eyes wide with fascination.

"Didn't tell us." Mad-Eye grumbled. "But from what I could see, the torture was very …. thoroughly done and by the look it, Bellatrix hit the lad with some of the Black Family curses – "

Blue eyes widened as Sirius shot up from his chair.

"SHE DID _WHAT!?_ "

* * *

The enraged roar was heard all the way up to the Antares' room.

"Mm. Seems they found out about his little… additions." Sebastian mused, humming as he prepared the bath for their Master.

"Indeed." Claude agreed, carefully disrobing the eye patch-wearing youth. "Is the room to your liking, Master?" He asked Antares.

The youth lifted up his head, his lone eye looking through the room carelessly.

It was a little smaller than his previous one, clad in dark gray and royal blue tones. It consisted of the mahogany wardrobe and a small table from the same wood. The bed was simple - the frame made from red cherry wood that accentuated the white and dark blue of the covers. The walls were painted in medium blue with silver accents in the shape of various mythical animals that came and went as they pleased - two eagles were playing in the upper left corner, while on the right wall a chimera was chasing after an unicorn.

The room wasn't the most luxurious in the house, but it was undoubtedly one of the better cared for ones, especially as it was one of the rooms Kreacher had managed to keep away from Sirius and his entourage by the will of the late Mrs. Black.

While the so-called purple room was in a sorry state that made both of the butlers cringe - apparently Sirius had desecrated the room pretty harshly in his efforts to make a portrait have an apoplexy of epic proportions. Suffice to say Kreacher somehow managed to serve him a potion in his favorite food that made the idiotic dog have diarrhea of epic proportions for a day and a half, and of course one Severus Snape was curiously out of the anti-laxative potions. Not that he was terribly sorry about not having them, much to Sirius' irritation.

The fabrics were torn and shredded, the corners stank with dog piss and here and there was some doggy shit - Claude almost stopped in one such small pile, and the bed rest was chewed thoroughly, making ugly indents in the wood.

Nonetheless to say, the butlers were not amused… especially with the double bed. No way did they want to sleep near to each other, thank you very much!

But Master's orders were absolute - even if they did intend to cheat on them later on, so they would have to repair the damned room and suck it up.

However, one particular dog was now definitely on their black list….

Giving a butler a…. Room in such disrepair to live in….

Was… _Prohibited._

* * *

"Ah… _Chooo!_ " Sirus sneezed harshly.

"Sirius, you alright?" Tonks asked, concerned.

Sirius shivered. "I just got a feeling someone was dancing on my grave." He shivered his eyes wide.

"Would serve you right, mutt." Snape sneered spitefully, but even he faltered at the sheer terror on the man's face. "Just who did you piss off this time?"

Sirius sniffled. "Has to be some kind of a demon." He mumbled. "The feminine wrath kind of lost its effect on me since Lily's whaling on me for getting Remus drunk on the night of the full moon." He ambled away, leaving Snape stare at him with his jaw slack with disbelief.

_'Not only_ _did_ _he_ _close_ _me in with a werewolf, but what was even worse, he closed me in with a drunk werewolf out all of the creatures…'_

Severus Snape growled.

The drunk werewolf, aka one R.J. Lupin was a creature to be avoided at all costs if you wanted to have your dignity and clothes whole and in working order. One Severus Snape didn't have such luck and it didn't help the drunk werewolf was particularly amorous toward his person, and only one James Potter's heroic sacrifice - ahem, letting the wolf to hump his hindquarters, saved the then future Potions Master from losing his dignity, virginity and clothes, not necessarily in that order.

Not that Remus knew anything about that, because both of the… sane… parties involved swore an Unbreakable Vow to never, ever speak about the happenings in that particular night.

However, Sirius had just now acquired a new old enemy in the shape of one royally pissed off Potions Master, who was hell-bent to get back on the mutt for the indignity he had suffered that gentle night, much to the two butlers' unexplained glee.

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_ **


	13. Walking In My Shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji or its characters, can't help but play with them though...
> 
> Summary: He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed.
> 
> Shout Out: /frazzled/ Have I told you that doing research work is a bitch lately? Sorry for not piping up sooner, and thank you for the patience. After all, going through 130 pages of scientific facts and editing the damned thing can cow in even the stronger plotdragons, but now I am back in the saddle - proverbially speaking. As it is, half of the new chapter for Crimson Sagittarius is already done, as for the other projects, they are clamoring for my attention when the heat gets down. Hopefully y'all have loads of ice cream wherever you are, or at least chilled watermelon, because really, this weather is honestly ridiculous /grumpy/. Some rain, pretty please... and cross the fingers and hope for the best. And mega big thanks for my beta MHB, who heroically used her super -duper-awesome ninja skillz to get the chapter back to me in a record time. Also, excuse my French, but I seriously need someone who would help me with it, because Fleur's double-speak is a hell to write through. /pitiful kitten eyes/ So... any occasional volunteers?
> 
> Warnings:Introduction of Twindledee and Twindledumb and Sebastian being rational. (Oh the horror.) /evil snigger/. Enjoy!

* * *

_I'm not looking for a clearer conscience_  
Peace of mind after what I've been through  
And before we talk of any repentance  
Try walking in my shoes

 _("Walking In My Shoes",_ by _Depeche Mode)_

* * *

The three nosy bodies - ahem, teenagers, were not very happy with one Antares Carruthers right now. In their esteemed opinion, Antares was a brat and a rude one at that, who exaggerated his own woes in searching for sympathy from honest people like themselves. Similarly, the Order members were not exactly happy with the youth, but Dumbledore placated them enough to let sleeping dogs lie… for now.

Of course, Sirius was alternatively sulking and whining about, concerned about being a bad father, but the son in the question didn't give a damn, and his… butlers…. even less.

Ah, yes, his butlers.

Dumbledore wasn't a happy camper about allowing the duo to accompany their Master, despite the rather good arguments one Sebastian Michaelis had put forth in their cause. They were… _strange._ Fleur was rather enamored with their dedication to their Master - she had Bill, after all, but some eye-candy was always a welcome sight for any Veela, and it was even better that the duo wasn't affected by her aura… and even if that irked the blonde woman, she was also rather relieved and a little uneasy.

Simply said, the two butlers were… too perfect. Fleur Delacour had the privilege of being catered to in both the magical and mundane worlds, and in her relatively long life - for her, anyway - she had the chance to discern the good servants from the bad, and the stellar ones from the terrifically incompetent - the last class was very rare, as she was the daughter of the French Ambassador who was also from a well-bred old family which demanded nothing short of perfection, and thus the servants were some of the best that could be hired.

But Antares' butlers were on another level entirely. Discreet, attentive, able to protect their master from lethal threats - and what a protection that was - and easy on the eyes. _Very_ easy on the eyes, and they still managed to vanish into the background like ghosts if need be. Fleur once asked Antares where he had hired the duo, but the youth claimed they were part of the Carruthers' staff and besides, it was his mother that hired them and with her dead, he sadly couldn't give her any further information on acquiring similar servants from the same source.

It made her both jealous and uncomfortable. Of course, being with Bill was a lot easier on her inner creature, but she still missed the comforts of her home, and that meant the service through the day and sometimes the night. While Gabby was happy as a clam because Michaelis - Sebastian, managed to entertain the young girl with some exceptionally done puppets, Fleur resented she had to help with the cooking and dishwashing and the likes. Molly was an old-fashioned woman in that regard, and much to Fleur's dismay, she was a disaster with household charms. It didn't help that Ginny and Hermione were smug about that fact, and it helped even less that Antares' butlers did their share of the job rather perfectly, even going so far as to cook for him separately, despite Antares' protests.

She had witnessed the young man in the kitchen one morning as he attempted to make breakfast, and when he was in the middle of the work, one of the butlers appeared - the glasses-less one - and whisked him away, tutting about shaming them as butlers, and then proceeded to commandeer the kitchen for himself, much to Molly's annoyance, as the scents and food were even more tempting than hers - it also didn't help the butler's cooking was leagues above her own and much more healthy than the red-haired woman's. The same scene had repeated at random times - sometimes, it was dinner, sometimes lunch, but it was always the same - Antares tried to cook something, one of the butlers swept in and took him back into his room, while the other got to cooking.

Of course, there were times when Antares won and did his own cooking, much to Faustus' disapproval and Michaelis' almost-there pouting. But they were rare as the two butlers seemed to take it as their mission to not let Antares into the kitchen when it involved cooking in any way, shape or form. Surprisingly, Kreacher let them do as they pleased, not even insulting the youth's parentage, while he still hindered the other housemates as much as he could.

Antares himself was an enigma. In his first meeting he came off as a cold, callous brat, but Fleur had to admit he was quite mature in his own right, if not a little too cynical for his own good. Even if Ron, Hermione and Ginny tried to include him in their own little world, the young Carruthers was surprisingly stubborn in his efforts to be left alone. He tolerated Gabby, but even the little part-Veela had to quit bothering him when he told her firmly - no ifs, ands or buts - that he was too tired to be attentive to her babbling.

And let's not even mentioned the twins' catastrophic prank…

Fleur sighed.

* * *

_/Flashback/_

It had been some three days into Antares' stay at Headquarters as they called the house they were in - Grimmauld Place was a mouthful and Sirius had bad memories attached to the name, and the Order also had meetings in this particular house…. so, Headquarters it was.

Antares was mainly keeping to himself in his room, with his butlers going out and about, except when it was time for meals or socializing, however torturous the thing was to the young Black heir.

And it was between one of those things that the twins struck.

Antares sighed. He was bored and up until now, the Order hadn't called a meeting yet, so he was left with the choice of being in his room, going into the library and being accosted by Granger, going to the kitchen and being mother-henned by the Weasley matron or being questioned by her husband about the function of the Muggle light bulb, or going to the living room to be pestered by either Weasley number six or Fleur's little sister. There wasn't even a shooting range, much to his horror, and he avoided the mutt that was his father. Of course, his butlers were also helpful in that regard, but he knew that sooner or later he would have to face the horn dog and clear out the confusion.

If he was honest with himself, he didn't want to even look at the man - not for a long time, but he knew he would have to suck it up and do it sometime…if he didn't it would have looked strange and besides, all his revenge plans would be for naught.

Because revenge - even if he had to fucking dig two graves to get it, proverbially speaking - was like an arrow with barbed tip - when it penetrates the flesh, it hurts, but when you pull it out, it's a fucking agony and it leaves a destroyed mass of muscles behind.

Only, the flesh heals, even if badly. Antares had another kind of revenge in mind - the kind that hurt everything. Their memories, their thoughts, their self-confidence… their souls, if he could be so… poetic as to use that kind of a phrase.

And for that, he had to suppress his own antagonism of the dog-natured man and… play the disinterested young heir.

He headed to the living room - he may as well as start the entire charade - the sooner he started, the sooner he would return back in his room. The sound of his cane hitting against the floor was muffled slightly by the carpeted floor as his uncovered eye disinterestedly took in the details. Faustus was following him behind a respectable step away from him, and if Antares hadn't known the butler was following him, he would have thought he was haunted by shadows.

Another peculiarity of the butler duo. They were loath to leave him alone, and he had one or another with him at all times. It was a little irritating at times, but he had to keep up the appearance of a well-bred noble, which was not as easy task as it seemed to be - between his healing wounds, the annoyances that masqueraded as his housemates and his own memories of said housemates' wrongdoings to his person, he was quite exhausted every evening.

And to think this was only the beginning of their hellish plan…

He sighed as he opened the door and –

_SPLAT!_

Something wet fell on his head - wet and green and slimy and then, the liquid began to itch and burn –

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, was an official christening of Sirius' little bundle of joy!" George's - or was if Fred's? - voice crowed among the roaring laughter of the onlookers, making Antares stiffen with fury.

He raised a hand to remove the goop from his face, hissing with pain as his other hand clenched the head of his cane.

"Faustus…" He gritted out. _"Hurts."_

"Welcome, little buddy!" One of the boisterous menaces skipped forward - Fred? "You were a lucky recipient of the newest product of our line of products – "

"Don't fucking care right now! What did you put in, acid?" Antares hissed out.

The twin frowned. "No - dittany and white root along with a bit of unicorn horn –" He faltered as Antares winced again.

" _Argh!_ No matter, how do I get the goop off?" The eye patch wearing youth asked as he cringed, while he tried to wipe his face clear of the goop.

Then someone drenched him with water and sending him in a wave of agony onto the floor at the same time.

_"AAGH!"_

"You idiot! This isn't soluble in water - in fact, it only strengthens –" One of twins hollered out and then Antares blacked out.

Fleur watched, horrified as the innocent prank proved to have disastrous consequences on the already injured youth who fell under the veritable waterfall of water on the floor.

"Then how do you get it off?" The bespectacled butler barked out, those usually stony yellow eyes glinting with dangerous light, making the twins yelp with fright.

" _O - Oil!_ Castor oil!" One of them stuttered out.

"Kreacher!" The man snapped out, and with a pop the disagreeable little menace appeared in the room. "Get the castor oil in a big pitcher - and quick!"

The elf's eyes widened and with a small pop he vanished.

A second later, he returned with a pitcher of a sickly yellow substance which was quickly snatched out of his hands by Faustus and then poured over the shivering and twitching youth on the floor.

Faustus' eyes looked over the slender teen worriedly as he gently felt for the pulse while he kneeled beside his fallen Master.

_**BANG!** _

The door opened with a loud sound, making the occupants almost jump out of their skins with fright.

"What happened?"

The usually smiling mocha-eyed butler was now anything but happy as he looked at his co-worker, and then, his eyes zeroed onto the castor oil-drenched form on the floor.

"The twin idiots wanted to welcome him with a prank, consisting of the hodgepodge of potions with some questionable potion ingredients." Faustus replied him, his voice clipped with worry and anger.

"I swear! We didn't know!"

One of the twins managed to squeak out, only to quail under the golden glare of the butler's furious orbs.

"You shouldn't have done it in the first place either. What the _hell_ possessed you to prank a sick person, anyway?" He growled back, incensed.

"But –" The other one tried to defend his twin, however both butlers were already concentrated on surveying damage that was done to their master.

And by the unhealthy mixture of paleness and redness on Antares' skin, things were not looking good for the young Carruthers.

"Take him to his room and disrobe him." Faustus ordered to Michaelis, with the latter nodding curtly as he gently gathered the precious burden in his arms. "Kreacher, prepare the bath, only with castor oil - slightly warmed, if you please. Go!"

"But shouldn't we wait on –" The bushy-haired girl tried to interject –

"No. Young Master needs the help now, and kindly keep your asinine worship of authority figured to yourself." Faustus cut her off. "Now, for the culprits….. Tell me exactly how you did the potion and maybe I will be merciful."

The twins scrambled to fulfill the order desperately, their faces pale with dread at the imagined consequences that awaited them.

Both of the twins were severely reprimanded for their actions – first by their mother, and then by Dumbledore and surprisingly, by Snape. The dark-haired Potions Master was actually apoplectic the two idiotic morons even thought of pranking the youth - there was still no love lost between Carruthers heir and Snape, however Antares was at least moderately cordial to the dour man, a long shot away from his old man, which was appreciated by the Potions Master, if not for anything else, then because their cordial relationship drove Sirius absolutely up the wall.

Surprisingly, Faustus was the one to brew the antidote to the lethal mass of poisons the twins called **a** pranking potion. Snape was very intrigued by the man's methods, but Faustus remained tight-lipped on it, much to the Potions Master's frustration.

The twins, while questioned, swore upside down that the potion in question should have been harmless as a fly - only turning the pranked person's skin and hair colored and then cancelling itself after 24 hours.

When Snape verified the potion's remains, he grudgingly affirmed the theory, which beget the question, just why had the potion in question reacted so badly when it came to contact with Antares.

The only thing they managed to get out of the tight-lipped bespectacled butler was that the youth was taking some very specific medicines to help with his recovery from the torture he had gone through at the hands of the Death Eaters. Snape was doubtful, but Sebastian smoothly rebuffed him saying that Voldemort hadn't wanted anyone to know he held - and tortured - two Purebloods, and besides, wasn't the Dark Lord aware of Snape's little dalliances with the Order?

Fleur had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that the mocha-eyed butler managed to silence the unpleasant hook-nosed potioneer mightily fast. She wasn't a fan of the spy, because he didn't submit to her Allure, not that she wanted him to, but the fact he always looked at her like she was some kind of a worthless bug galled her. Sure, she was a Veela, so what? That still didn't give him the right to treat her as something sub-human!

"Will he be alright?"

She was jolted out of her fuming by Gabrielle's timid voice. It had been pure dumb luck that Gabrielle was away when the incident happened, not that it scared the young girl any less.

"I hope so, Gabby." She sighed wearily as she opened the arms for her sister to hug her, which Gabby happily took advantage of.

"I hope so."

/End Flashback/

* * *

Meanwhile, the butlers were not happy campers. Claude especially was moody, as he felt that he had failed in protecting Antares. Even if he did manage to somehow reverse the potion, there were still some changes that stubbornly persisted.

He looked at the sleeping face of his master as he stood beside his bed. Antares' face was relaxed, with only a small furrow between his eyebrows to note his discomfort. His face was pale - still a little too much for both butlers' tastes, but it was an improvement from the last night. At least his skin wasn't clammy anymore - there were times the two demons genuinely feared they would lose their Master, but as usual, Antares proved to be too stubborn to give up.

The youth's dark hair and eyebrows were now snow white with some ice-blue highlights when the light hit the strands correctly. It was, as if he were an ice fae, only he wasn't so pale and the only things that actually reminded of the ice fae folk were the color of his hair and eyebrows - the eyes they weren't sure about.

It had been four days since the disaster with the hair color potion cum poison, and both of the butlers decided to barricade themselves with the Young Master, leaving the Lady Room unoccupied. Of course, they still had to do the chores, but they rotated, so that wasn't the problem. If there was any problem, it was that redheaded girl and to a lesser degree, the bushy-haired one, along with Dumbledore and that faithful little lap-dog of his.

Sighing, Faustus pinched the bridge of his nose as to stave off his headache. How would he loved to kill them all… maybe then he would get some relief from the ever-persistent headache that had hounded him since the beginning of the debacle. Why those people thought he would be more approachable than Michaelis, he would never know.

"He's looking better." Michaelis' quiet voice remarked softly, making him grunt.

"Of course he does." Claude would never admit, but his voice held a trace of relief. Even if the _kumoshitsuji_ was fairly certain of his potion making skills - it wasn't so different from poisons, really - it was still a nerve-wracking episode when he worked on and applied the counter-potion, especially because those wretched twins had done an experimental version and he had to, more often than not, wing it to get the mixture done right. It took three failed tries, and the fourth one was finally a success, and by then, Antares' body was dangerously close to shutting down.

By all that was unholy, he would torture Twindledee and Twindledumb exquisitely long when the time came, just because the idiots caused his service record to be blemished like this. That, Claude Faustus swore most vehemently.

No one messed with the chosen prey of Claude Faustus and lived to tell the tale - at least not for long.

"So, what now?" The _kuroshitsuji_ asked, his eyes trained - Claude knew that without looking - on the frail form on the bed.

"As much as I would have liked to inject the two imbeciles with an organ-liquefying poison, Master Antares wouldn't have appreciated it." Claude stated sourly, making Michaelis chuckle with repressed malice. "I was thinking of plucking out their eyes and cutting out their tongues, but your idea has merit." The mocha-eyed butler admitted, his voice a little stilted with the accent of demonic language. "That too." Claude agreed unrepentantly.

"Dumbledore still insists on having his pet Potions master examine the Young Master." Michaelis murmured, his voice the mix between cold and curiously nonchalant.

"Nothing new here." Claude's golden eyes flickered to his demonic co-worker. "And his pet mutts?"

Claude wasn't overly fond of the 'pet mutts' as he termed Sirius and Remus. Sirius because the man was too damn perky for his tastes - really, he preferred his dishes tainted with darkness, but not with side of insanity, thank you very much - one Trancy brat was more than enough, and coupled with fact that the man behaved worse than a spoiled five year old kid when it concerned his 'son', was more than enough to deter the kumoshitsuji from claiming the last Black male.

Remus was meek, spineless and cowardly. He didn't want to confront his inner darkness, preferring to put a lid on it via potions that were making him more deranged than usual. The Wolfsbane may have quieted the wolf, but it also made the man taking it all the more insane for it - the insanity wasn't repressed, but more like transferred to the human counterpart. Of course, it was happening so slowly it wasn't very noticeable - some wolf eyes here and there, a little more snappy than usual and a little more unhinged instincts, and being prone to act on them. Not that typical werewolves were any better, but the way Lupin chose was a slow form of suicide.

"Black is still whining to be let in. The wolf is currently occupied with the pink-haired girl."

 _Ah._ Claude nodded. He noticed the clumsy girl's infatuation with the werewolf, but he let it be, as it meant fewer eyes on their actions. But even he knew that their little diversion wouldn't last forever, and sooner than later, their master would have to show himself to the unworthy sheep that called themselves the Order of the Phoenix.

But right now…. They had more pressing problem to deal with.

Golden eyes behind the clear lenses looked into mocha-colored ones before lowered as he looked at their master again.

As one, the two butlers kneeled, each on the side of the bed, and reached for the frail hands. Eyes glowed slightly as the two dark heads bent over the pale skin, elegant noses inhaling the heady aroma of the life-giving liquid.

Lips mouthing the clammy skin opened as velvety slick tongues sampled the taste, teasing the little wound here and there and …. was there a low purr being heard?

And then, it happened.

 _POP_.

The two heard an almost noiseless popping noise, but they were too distracted to pay it any heed.

"Dumb mudblood-lover –" The high pitched squeak made the two demons' heads snap up as the two pairs of bloodlust-filled, furious eyes tinged with hellish red pinned the startled elf under their ferocious glare.

_"Eeek!"_

Kreacher squeaked.

Honest to Merlin _squeaked._

And much to his everlasting shame, soiled himself.

* * *

Antares blinked lazily. Since he had woken up, both of the butlers were curiously quiet, and dare he say… sulky? He tilted his head, his green eye narrowing as he pondered the strange occurrence.

"Any change?" He asked, his voice making him cringe with its whispery quality. He sounded like some besotted woman, damnit!

"Nothing, Master. Although the Order wanted to enter the rooms to check up on you." Faustus answered absentmindedly as he straightened some knick-knacks on the small table.

The now white-haired boy blinked. "Figures. You found what caused me to collapse yet?" The youth tilted his head curiously, making the butler's fingers tighten around the small crystal figurine momentarily.

Did Antares even know what was exposing of his throat doing to him? To _them?_

Even if the throat in question was scarred, that didn't deter the two butlers from occasionally eyeing it like some kind of tasty treat.

"Yes, Master."

Antares paused. For the _kumoshitsuji_ to not answer him promptly, there had to be something seriously wrong.

"Faustus." His voice made the bespectacled butler involuntarily stiffen his spine. "What's wrong with you?"

Pale eyelids covered the unusually-colored eyes as the man lowered his head submissively. "I am well, Master. Please don't let yourself be bothered with me. "

"Bullshit." Antares' sharp voice cracked like whip through the room. Green eye sought the other occupant of the room. "Michaelis?"

"Really, Young Master, it's alright –" Michaelis' fake cheerful voice was interrupted by Antares cold hiss.

"Don't make me use an order."

The underlying 'tell me or else' was heard loudly and clearly.

Antares blinked as Michaelis' shoulders slumped.

"Kreacher discovered us."

* * *

Meanwhile, all was not well within the Order. The misfired prank of the twins held everyone in suspense, what with Antares still not coming out of his room and the two butlers not allowing anyone to tend to him.

They had sent – meaning Sirius - Kreacher, to have at least get some kind of news about the youth's state, but Kreacher was returned, shivering terribly, by the ever-smiling butler of Carruthers, Mike – Micha or something. And no matter how much Sirius demanded, the damned elf wouldn't say anything about what transpired in the room except to refuse to spy on the trio. Not even when Sirius threatened the foul little creature with burning the late Lady Black's portrait, and that was saying something, because if anything, this should have moved the elf to loosen his tongue.

Fleur sat in the chair patiently while the members of the Order were squabbling over Antares. Snape was still fuming over the audacity of the bespectacled butler - how dare he not share the knowledge! He was a Potions Master, and the snotty little servant just refused to tell him how to counteract the horrifying excuse of a potion the Weasley twins oh-so-generously dumped on Antares' head.

"But what if he's sick?" Molly fretted, making Fleur wrinkle her nose delicately over her overly fussy demeanor - all that wringing of hands and concern and almost-wailing didn't make the blonde in any better mood she was in right now - she had to comfort Gabrielle, before the little girl consented to go to sleep, and the racket those… people caused, especially Molly what with her loud, screeching reprimand of the twins made her mood plummet even better. And Dumbledore's obsession with the victim – ah, Monsieur Carruthers, was nothing short of disturbing.

She sighed. "'Eez butlers are _tres compétent_ , Madame. 'Ee trusts them, and with a good reason, too." She finally snapped out, making the babble temporarily cease as the people eyed her strangely, making her glare at them half-heartedly.

Did they really take her for that much of an empty-headed floozy? Irritated, Fleur rubbed the left temple of her head, gently massaging the place, wishing for a strong headache relieving potion.

"But –" Hermione began, her hair a frizzy mess, and her eyes dark and somewhat lost.

 _"Non."_ Fleur interrupted her firmly as she flicked her hair back, absently noting she would have to wash it again. Honestly, why they were packed in this darkness infested hole was beyond her. "'Ee is entitled to some peace from you all. _Personnellement_ , you all have bugged 'im more than enough already.

"You don't seem to understand, Ms. Delacour," Dumbledore began, the grandfatherly twinkle In his blue eyes a little more subdued. "Antares could –"

"Could what?" The whispery voice made them turn their heads to the kitchen door so fast there were some audible cricks in their necks.

And lo and behold, there he was.

Antares Carruthers, the person of the hour.

* * *

Antares couldn't care less about their shocked gasps and wide eyes and guilty expressions. They were all fake anyway, and he didn't want to be in their presence more than absolutely needed.

And this was one of those times. He had to convince the butlers-cum-bodyguards, but finally, they relented, but not after they wrangled some concessions out of him, souring his already irritated mood.

"… Antares! You're alright!" The mutt number one yelped as he dashed to him, only to be intercepted by Michaelis, who smiled at the man's deflated face a little too cheerfully to be normal. "Do remember that my Master is still not at his best, Black." He muttered to the man, his voice loud enough for all the participants to hear, and still making the man flush with mortification.

"I - uh, just wanted to check up on him!" Sirius defended himself, yanking out of the butler's grip. Or tried to, as Michaelis' hands on his shoulders tightened a little bit, making him wince. "Via doggy-humping him? I think not, Black." The smooth baritone of the kumoshitsuji thrummed through Antares' back as the butler supported him as if he were a ragdoll cat, just shy of carrying him. Antares would have protested, but as it was, he was too tired to argue properly - even that little appearance right now was sipping his meager amounts of energy at alarming rate.

Antares looked over the assembled people coldly. "As you can see I am alright. Kindly cease badgering me, because it's disturbing my rest." He snapped out as he was led to the empty chair.

"I am glad to hear so, my boy." Dumbledore beamed at him, his eyes twinkling full power. Antares would have cringed at the sight - the wizards' robes today were truly atrocious kaleidoscopes of colors - bright yellow, neon green and pink with black dots that were being enlarged and capsized at irregular intervals, making the old man seem to be a somewhat demented chameleon who couldn't hide anywhere even if his life depended on it. Privately, Antares wondered whether most of the wins Dumbledore seemed to get in dueling arenas were the result of wearing the clothing so atrocious his opponents had surrendered just so they were spared looking at the horror that was the man's fashion sense.

"I am not your anything, Dumbledore. That is two strikes." Antares replied coldly, making the witnesses bristle. Dumbledore's smile faded. "I apologize… Mr. Carruthers."

Antares nodded curtly, even if it did came out as a jerky movement. Unfortunately, that little movement only emphasized the byproduct of him having survived the unintentionally malicious prank.

All of the eyes, except for his and the two butlers were on his snowy white locks. The black tresses were now white - so white there was a faint blue sheen when the light hit them at the odd angle or two. And with the youth's emotionless, black eye patch-wearing face, the effect was fairly intimidating.

"Whoa, your hair is white!" Ron blurted out incredulously, making Antares look at him dully. "Obviously." He deadpanned, making the redhead glare at him as the others snorted and very few of them snickered at the redhead's idiocy. Fleur giggled at the mortified boy, pleased at his humiliation. His panting after her was terrible, especially as she already had her beloved Bill.

"So what did cause your hair to change the colors?" The bushy-haired bookworm piped up curiously, leaning forward as if she wanted to examine, and possibly dissect him.

"Side effect from the cure." Faustus answered crisply as he nudged his glasses up, the small movement both elegant and dismissive of the crowd. Hermione glared at the butler. "I didn't ask you." She growled at the butler petulantly. Honestly, the _nerve_ of him!

"And you still didn't answer my question." She continued, looking back at Antares inquiringly, as if her sheer will would bend the stoic noble to sate her curiosity.

"It's none of your concern. Kindly cease badgering me and mind your own business. Granger." Antares' voice was polite, but cold enough to freeze tundra if he so wished. The bushy – haired girl blushed with sheer mortification. "But – !"She squeaked out, as her fingers wrangled together in a nervous gesture.

"While Carruthers is right, I too would like to know what caused the sudden change." Dumbledore interjected, his blue eyes twinkling compellingly. The Order leaned forward eagerly.

"And I reiterate, mind your own business. This is no fashion show -" Antares leaned back, his chin lifting stubbornly as his lone eye glared at the occupants. "-and I am not here to provide you with amusement at my own expense. I came to assuage your fears, but I found out that you are more concerned with minor cosmetic changes than discussing what could be done to stop Voldemort and his minions. At the rate you are going it's no wonder he managed to get such a strong foothold over Britain." He scoffed, disregarding the shame and anger on their faces. "Faustus, Michaelis, let's go." He commanded, and Faustus gently helped him to stand up, the gloved hands a stark contrast against the midnight blue fabric of Antares' pullover.

"Bet you would get along with the ferret smashingly well." Ron spat out, his freckled face coloring with flush alarmingly quickly. "How can we be sure that you won't just turn on us and betray us to your Master?"

That prompted shocked inhalations and splutters through the room. " _Ronald Billius Weasley!_ How dare you!" Molly screeched as she rounded on her youngest son, causing him to cringe.

"Zat was uncalled for!" Fleur also called out, angry on Antares' behalf. Honestly, the poor boy had more than enough trouble, and then that poor excuse for a male dares to question him, just because Antares refused to answer why his hair was now white - ! Of all the absurd things –

"Bet you would get along with Bellatrix smashingly well, too." Antares' voice was calm. "Both of you prejudiced, blind fools, hell-bent on getting your way via undermining your fellow humans and when you don't, you throw temper tantrums. Of course, that is if she didn't kill you the first second for your atrocious table manners." A lone green eye pinned the rapidly purpling boy to his chair as sure as if his gaze were an iron nail.

"I will allow you to judge me when you have gone through the same things I did. Until then, I don't owe you any sort of apology or attention, seeing as you are too immature and dim-witted to understand the situation." That said, Antares slowly strode out of the room, with a seething Ron glaring at him, and the silent Order.

"I wonder…" Michaelis' soft voice jolted them to look at the butler. Usually smiling man was now serious, and his mocha colored eyed stared at Ron thoughtfully. "Just how much effort did it take to you to become such an imbecile?"

Ron opened his mouth, only to yelp as Hermione kicked him into the shin."Mister Michaelis –" Dumbledore began, but the butler raised his hand, immediately silencing him. "My Master was right. You don't take this seriously. This little _uprising_ \- " Michaelis negligently waved his hand – "-would have been quelled in the mundane world in only two weeks- a month tops. And here you are, battling it out for what, twenty years or so? Pitiful. And then, you have the _gall_ to ask my Master to come in that excuse for a house, even when he is still recuperating from torture - yes, Ronald, torture – " he addressed the flinching redhead darkly – "allow him to be pranked by the two imbeciles that call themselves the pranking geniuses –" the twins flinched guiltily – "and last, but not least, ask him asinine questions about the color of his hair." Michaelis' head tilted aside, as if he were a crow, eyeing a particular fat worm. "And then, the cherry on the top, you allow a boy to insult his better and higher."

"Better and higher?" Ginny questioned, her voice quavering. Mocha colored eyes looked at her, making her shrink back. "Do you know the repercussions for insulting the Lord of an Ancient House, Miss Weasley?" At Ginny's clueless blink, his pale lips tilted in a small smile. "Oh, my my. How far have you fallen. _Mademioselle_ Delacour, if you would?"

Fleur flushed as she found herself the center of attention. "Monsieur Carrutherz could have demanded reparation for the slight to his honor, be that in monetary or debt sense, and if the worse came to 'ee worst, 'ee could have demanded an honor duel." She replied, her voice trembling slightly. "And because of special circumstances, he could have named a proxy in his name to fight against that imbecile you call brother, thus guaranteeing his loss. And he could 'ave demanded him to be stripped of 'iz name, named him Disgraced or outright demanded that the family pays ze debt."

"She is right." For once, Sirius was serious, no pun intended. "Antares here is the Heir, and soon to be Lord Carruthers. And did you forgot that I named him the Black Heir? So, boya, in insulting him, you've also insulted me."

"You?" Ron stupidly asked, making Sirius nod. "Me. As in, Lord Black me."

"Oh –" The first twin said, his freckled face pale with fear as he looked at his twin.

"– shit." His twin concluded as they shuddered in unison.

Ron's eyed bugged out as he finally understood the depth of the hole he had dug himself in.

 _'Oh shit',_ indeed.

* * *

She nibbled her lips in worry as she contemplated what to write. The time was dire, and with them being pressed to enter in the Dark Lord's service, they needed help…. now more than ever. She didn't want to call on him – the possibilities of failure, even if her plan was successful, were just too high – but she didn't have a choice.

And she hadn't even seen the boy in person , when she could have gauged him correctly. Without some kind of a measure for his habits, likes and dislikes, she felt lost, as if she was trying to find a needle in a haystack without using magic. What if she was wrong?

What if she unknowingly angered him with her demand? Because what she demanded was brazen, heavily bordering on the rude side…and he didn't have any obligation to hear her out much less to help her.

But it was either this or being branded like a cattle.

Gathering her determination, she clutched the quill made from a blue-colored phoenix feather and began writing.

_Lord Carruthers,_

_Excuse my rude manners for daring to send you this letter. We've never met before, as I know of you only from my father's talks about the Gray Alliance and tales of the Diagon Massacre. But you are my only hope now, what with the Dark Lord intending to mark me as one of his own. I don't want that, but I can't go against him. I am offering myself as your betrothed, with no obligations expected from your side. Please, grant me this boon, and I swear I won't ask for anything more._

_Your sincerely –_

She hesitated to write out her name. Would she really go with this? To offer herself to a stranger like some kind of a trophy? Looking through the window, she was the pale moon hovering in the dark blue sky, crescent hovering threateningly over the land like a sickle waiting to fall.

Sighing heavily, she turned back to the letter and sealed her fate.

* * *

_**/To Be Continued/** _


	14. Heaven Help Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry potter or Kuroshitsuji - they both belong to their prospective authors. I own only plotdragons and this lil' story.   
> Summary: He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed.
> 
> Shout Out: Right, right. I couldn’t help myself but write. It bit me when I was listening to the song Europa by Globus, and I just had to do it, never mind the editing the research work /sweatdrops/. So, with this chapter done, I will move onto finishing the next chapter for Crimson Sagittarius, but the update will be a little later, Real Life prerogative - have to get it done and prepare for defending it. Wish me luck /kitten eyes./ And many thanks to MHB with her blitzing fast work. 
> 
> Warnings: Ouch, here we go. This chapter definitely deserves them - so here we go - mentions of rape and torture, so anyone with tender stomach or personal experience better overlook these parts. Seriously. Otherwise... our butlers are definitely of a jealous sort.

 

* * *

_Heaven help in all our battles_  
Heaven see love, heaven help us  
Avant hier, avons être  
Déja demain, (nous) sommes éclairée  
  
For glory, for honor  
Victory is upon us  
Our savior, fight evil  
Send armies to defend us!

_(“Europe”,  by Globus)_

* * *

 

_“It was good to be a  Death Eater these days.   Our  Lord  was  gaining  strength  by leaps and bounds -  indeed, since the  fools  had incarcerated  Potter, may   Morgana  curse  his  damned soul,   they were  as good  as  blind.   It still amazes me   how the   brat   had tried to warn them about   our Lord’s  return, and yet the fools  decided    to be  blind  rather than  take the  heed of the warnings  and  do at least something  to   spare their pathetic lives.   Just shows how the influx of Mudbloods has been degenerating our society.  They should have remained   in their own backwater world, or better, be drowned at birth, like the useless vermin they are.  The lot of them, hiding under Dumbledore’s   skirts like some kind of  crybabies -  they  come  into our  world and expect  of us  to accommodate them as if they were the next coming of  Merlin – that  we should have thrown all of our  culture and tradition  through the window in order to ‘modernize’ ourselves. Harrumph! What a joke They don’t understand even the slightest of the mysteries - and they prattle about  already  knowing the  Universe!  Their ‘technology’ may as well be still in the stone ages, no matter how much they   say they advanced. Lies, I say!    If those   ‘satellytes’ of theirs were  real, the wizards  would have   made them  a long  ago!    And their communications - so very primitive -   talking into some boxes and not even using the  fire!   They think   to fool us - well, we aren’t fools!  Dumbledore, the old fool is all for sowing their dirty seed among our   pure blood -   truly, he has gone mad from his lemon drops.    He doesn’t   even celebrate   Yule   and Solstice properly - instead, he encourages something called ‘Christmas’ and   don’t get me started on that ‘Halloween’ of his!  Why our Lord thought he is   dangerous, I will never know,    Dumbledore being defeater of Grindelwald notwithstanding…..”_

_[Excerpt from the “Diary of an unknown Death Eater”, page  194]_

A darkly hooded  person  closed the  yellowed pages of the  old  book  carefully, before its  white-glowed  fingers  carefully  reached for  a green and gold  bound book and  slowly, oh  so slowly,  opened   it, as if the  thin book -  a notebook to be precise -  held within   the instructions for ritual  with the potential to destroy the world.

The   candle light   shuddered, as if  feeling an apprehension about the contexts of the  innocent-looking  notebook before the  orange flame  steadied and with the   subvocal  murmur of the  person  in deep scarlet  hood, it  grew a little.   Unseen eyes narrowed a little at the faint lines of child’s writing.

_“Annie_

_It was a scary night!  The men with silver faces and black  cloaks came. Mummy and Daddy told us to  hide -  Janny  an  me  had to  hide, but  Janny  wanted her   stuffed rabbit  and   she ran to  the  kitchen  for it.   The rabbit is ugly   and   I would leave it alone, but  Janny  said she would scream if  I don’t let her go._

_The scary man  with silver  face   caught  her -  stupid  Janny and when  she  screamed  he hit her -  I think it was slaped – mummy told me and  then  he  grabbed  her  like  a kitten -   I  don’t think Janny   is a kitten and mummy  never   carried us  like   mum  cat  does to kittens, but he did  and  Mummy and  Daddy  weren’t  happy to see her.  Mummy  cryed and  she was really sad. I stayed safe but I  prayed  for angel to help Mummy and Daddy.   Janny too, even if she is a dumb meanie._

_Annie,  guess what?   I was really good girl and  he sent  us an angel!_

_He was all in black and  had big black  wings  and  the  meanies  with silver faces  were  taught a lesson about being mean -  Mummy  didn’t want me to look so I didn’t, but  they  were screaming  a lot, and   they said bad words.  And then, they  were   quiet._

_I asked the angel to stay with us,  but he said  he  couldn’t, ‘cause God would  be missing him.  And I don’t know why Mummy was so scared of him. He was angel, wasn’t he?  Does it mean that  she   had done something bad to be  scared of  him?_

_I won’t forget him. Mummy asked me to, but  I  can’t.  I promised him I would - I know it’s not nice to lie, but I will tell no one.  Not even my bestest  friend in the  whole world.   I want to see angel  again someday, when he isn’t so busy  taking care of  God.   Annie, do you think I could?_

_See ya later,_

_Mari”_

The  person  tilted its hooded head.

There  was  a  picture, all black  and white  and yellow,  scrawled  clumsily over the expanse of the paper, of  a brown-eyed man, clad in black  and enormous  feathery black wings with a  big red smile hugging  a girl in a pink  dress with  braided brown hair  and  blue  eyes  with a  smaller pink smile.

The  only known picture of  Savior, the mysterious man  who  was  defending  the  helpless Wizarding folk from the Death Eaters’  raids.   White-clad fingers gently slid over the paper and the  person chuckled soundlessly.

Ah, fond memories….

* * *

Truthfully, it all began because of a  coincidence.   The Death Eaters just had the misfortune of being on the wrong place at the wrong time and   contending the worst opponent imaginable.

One  Sebastian Michaelis  was on his  way from  Carruthers Manor  back to Grimmauld Place -  he  refused to  let his master to wear  those ridiculous  robes  the  wizards  were  forcing upon him, and besides,  some more  ammo was always helpful to  have.   He had left   Antares in   Faustus’   capable hands -   the  _kuroshitsuji_ still  hesitated to admit that   yes,  Faustus was indeed capable, even if he  already knew  that from  seeing  the  blue  butler’s  interactions with  that fake Trancy noble.   However, that still didn’t mean he actually liked to leave  Antares, especially   when the  youth had to fend off the  Order of idiots almost on an hourly basis.  But needs must.

Humming a   song under his breath,  Sebastian inhaled  the  chilly  evening air. 

Ahh, it  was a  good night -  no moon,   some stars peeking here and there and   virtually  trouble-free..

Meaning,   it  was a perfect time for  someone  to  stir the trouble.

Mocha colored eyes looked over the  darkened  landscape  carelessly -    for once, the butler  chose to  walk,  just because.

And then, he heard it.

The  screams and shouts and  raucous laughter.

Sebastian would have  ignored it, if not for one   little phrase.

“Long Live Lord  Voldemort!”

Dark  head tilted slightly as mocha eyes narrowed.

“Lord  Voldemort,  huh?   Seems   I will be crashing the party…”   Pale  lips  curled into a  cruel  smirk  as  the  body   shifted.

“Let’s  greet the  guests, _ne_?”

* * *

The Peytons were  an ordinary  wizarding family -  they  couldn’t boast with the  prestige or pedigree  like  the Malfoys  or Parkinsons or   Dumbledores -   they  were  a small  family of second-generation  wizards – so relatively  new in the terms of  blood, as both of the  parents  came together  after  the  Dark Lord was defeated for the first time -  Charles  Peyton had lost his  parents to   the  Macnairs and    Kathryn  Cains  was   a  Muggleborn witch who had been the single  child  of  a single mother -    her father  died in a mining accident  before  she was  ten, and her mother  had died    after she had  finished   Hogwarts.   The pair had met  at Hogwarts, but  romance bloomed way later, what with her   working as a seamstress and him needing  a new  cloak.  Everything else, as they say,  was   history.

The pair  was living peacefully with  their  two daughters, Marianne and  Jannelise,  the  latter shortly  nicknamed Janny.   However, their   idyll was shattered   by a very  unwelcome visit  via the Dark Lord’s  goons.

Kathryn was a mild-mannered  woman -  dark brown eyes  and hair,   who  had  a strong love of her little family and  her work.   She   didn’t buy into the hullaballoo of the Light and Dark side, but she didn’t toot her opinions aloud -   it would be almost   total suicide if she would have done   so and  she  tried to keep as  much of a low profile as she could. 

“Evening, Mudblood.”  The  masked man sneered at her as she opened  the door.   She only managed to scream for  her  daughters to flee before   she was backhanded and  crashed  on the floor  with the force of punch.

“Nice,  Mudblood.   But not enough.  “   A rough hand   grabbed her for her  hair  harshly as other  people  walked into the  small anteroom as if they owned the  quaint   house she called home.

“Mari! Janny! Hide!”  She   hollered    before  she  was  hit again.

“You Mudbloods,  thinking you  are  all high and mighty with your inventions and your   world of electry-kitty.  You  come in our society and  dirty the pristine  ground  Merlin had walked upon with your  dirty  feet.  Squealing how we need to change, modernize, blah de dah.” The man   grunted, blank  eyeholes of the mask  staring at her  terrified face.

“You should be grateful you were even allowed into our society, to serve the  pure ones.   You are  good for two  things -  grunt work and  being a fuck toy. “ A harsh  hand  grabbed her  right  breast, making her squeal with pain as  the  fingers  pinched the nipple  brutally.

“Tonight, little   Mudblood, you   will have  the honor of entertaining us.   Care to  guess how?”  The   dark  voice purred into her  ear, making her  body  involuntarily recoil at the  knowledge.

“No!   Please! “   Kathryn begged, flinching  as   her   dress was ripped in half via charm.

“Hmmm… you have a nice body  for a   filthy  blood.  “ The Death Eater  hummed, eliciting a raoucous  laughter   from  his companion. 

 _“KATHRYN!”_ Charles’  pained bellow  made her  cringe.

“Oh,  lookie,  Edmund,  an audience.  Let’s  teach the   blood traitor his place, which is…”

“… under our heels!”   Edmund  sniggered back  as  he  pawed at the   woman’s  posterior greedily. 

 _“_ Shall we?”

The    man  nodded  sharply.   “Of course.”

Kathryn was dragged into the living  room, kicking and screaming, her body shaking under the low-level  pain curses Edmund was plying her with.

The torture  was… thorough.   They had  roughed  Charles up good, before they  began to   cut  his limbs -    beginning with the  toes and then  continuing,  even going so far as to use  a  lust curse  while   the  man was being raped  via a baseball bat he once  acquired.   A  beautiful irony,  to be  defiled  by  a Muggle object,  the leader said.

Kathryn  was  forced to watch it,  forced  to spread her legs,  and let the  man rape her in front of  her husband while  she was sucking off the  other man.  Her stomach  roiled from the pungent scent, taste and the disgust –

And then, the child screamed.

Both of the parent’s eyes widened with horror.

“G-Ganny.”  Kathryn managed to gurgle out before  she was forced  back  to her  job.

“Another  little Mudblood.   Aren’t you two generous hosts…”  One of the men  sniggered. “Going so far as to prepare  dessert for us.”

“No -   Not this.   Anything but her.”  Charles choked out, his blue eyes  wide with terror.

“No can do, dog.  Learn your place.”

The  man  returned,   carrying   a crying  five  year old   like she was an unruly  cat, choking the girl slightly.   She was crying and on her right cheek, there was a  big   bruise.

“Lookie  what I _fo-ound_!” he sing-songed as he dangled the choking girl   as if she were some  kind of a weird ornament.  “A little bitch in training.”

A slow clapping was heard,  freezing the men in their places.

“What an interesting game.   Mind if I join you?”

A rough  voice purred  from the window,   prompting the   Death Eaters to jerk around.

And there he was -  a slender   stranger, clad all in black  with cattish smile  and  hellish red eyes.

“Who the fuck are you!”  One of the dumber men called out  roughly, making the  silhouette  tilt it’s  head.  “Oh, just a passerby. Don’t mind me, gentlemen.  I am sure we could all have a good time. So… shall we?”

And then, he vanished.

The   little girl was ripped from the   idiot’s grip faster than they could comprehend, and  a scant few moments later, both Kathryn and  Charles  were free of their tormentors. 

It was like magic.

One minute they were under the mercy of those  -   despicable excuses  for human beings, and the  next, they were on the other   side of the  room,   with Kathryn desperately clutching  their precious  bundle of  joy to her  naked  body.

The  pair looked at the slender man’s back -  it was almost unbelievable that  such a ordinary person  could have  done that.

“Wha –! “  The  Death Eater who  tortured  Charles bleated dumbly.

 _“Crucio!”_ The ringleader was faster, but the  stranger  already moved.

“Oh?  The game is not fun anymore, is that it?” The  stranger asked, his voice  raspy,   somehow making  Kathryn  shudder  with  unease, her skin prickling uncomfortably.

“Stand still, damn you!”  Another barked as he  tried to follow   the  man’s  movements fast enough to hit him.

“But where would be fun in that?”  The  stranger   countered idly, and  suddenly, the man  howled as   his  legs were  cut from under him, making him topple on the floor in agony.

“D – Doug!”  The Death Eater  hurried to his comrade who was wailing with agony as he rolled on the floor helplessly.

“You’ll pay for that,  Mudblood scum!” The leader   screamed -  or tried to, as his words  were gurgled out  in a bubbles of blood.

“You _bastard_!” 

The man chuckled at the  helpless expletive of predator turned prey.

“W – what the fuck are you?”

The man tilted his   head,   his eyes aglow with a sinister crimson light, making the  Death Eaters   involuntarily freeze.

The  shadow on his back parted and suddenly, it  was not one anymore, but  two,  growing and stretching and  there was a faint  breeze smelling of ashes  and  bitterness and  night -  if the night  even had a smell, Kathryn  mused dazedly  and  there he stood.

There was a shadow in her blue eyes… the shadow in the shape of an angel.

* * *

Sebastian Michaelis smirked at the idiots’ gawping faces. He couldn’t  shift into  his   true form -   that would be… inconvenient at best, because he was sure angels didn’t  wear high heels,  but he still could use some of his talents to  teach the   rabble  a  lesson they  would never, ever forget.

“I am but one hell of a savior.” He murmured  daintily as he looked  at the  masked  men,  the  smile of  his  face   angling  just a little as his   eyes  slowly  changed  their  color.

The  Death Eaters recoiled at the hellish glow of the unnatural freak’s  eyes.   Sure, their Lord had red eyes, but they were just that - red.   But this -  this creature -  it’s  eyes were glowing,  red  and bordering on purple,   the   sinister glow prompting them to back away.

“I think we could liven up the party, and as  the guests it’s only fitting….”  The   freak muttered, his    raspy voice echoing in their   skulls like a death’s toll.

“That you would be the main entertainment.   You really don’t want to be rude toward your hosts, don’t you?”

“I -  In  the name of  the  Dark Lord – “  the  leader  began,  but a  soft, sinister chuckle interrupted him.

“Don’t bother.  “

And then, the screams began.

Sebastian  refrained from using  cutlery –  that  would have   revealed his identity   and besides, it  was  much more fun to   use some  good old methods  to  punish the  idiots.

Besides, he hadn’t been  pressed to be _creative_ in a long, long time.

A wicked smile curling on his pale lips he enjoyed the screams of the ones who  tortured his  Little Master Ganny or   something,   while the man was  trying to get in front of them to  protect them.

It was a pathetic sigh.  Sebastian sighed.   No different from thousands and thousands  ones he had already seen.   Be it Victorian England, Babylonia or   Ancient Rome,    some things   remained the same, no matter  the time period or the advancement of the human race as a whole.

“Are you an angel, Mister?”

He blinked as he  saw  a small girl in the door -  she couldn’t  be  older than  five,   and  her  long brown hair  was messy, and her  blue eyes were watery  from crying.  She was clothed in a simple pajamas that were dirtied from all the hide and seek  she was  forced to do  to avoid  the  Death Eaters.

“Hello, Little one.”   He replied as he stretched his wings -   true, the room was cramping his style, but  oh well.  He would deal with it.

 _“Mari!”_ The woman gasped her  voice  choked  out in relief.

Wide blue eyes, the color of   a summer sky  looked in mocha colored ones.  “I asked for you and  you came. “

Sebastian had to hold back a guffaw at the  little girl’s  simplicity.    Asking for him to  come was asking for  death and trouble, and this little   child  believed him to be an angel.   Truly, Undertaker would have  enjoyed  this little joke.

“Indeed.”  He  agreed,  smiling  a charming smile at the  already dazzled  girl.

“Will you stay with us?”  The little girl asked cutely, tilting her head on the  side like a curious little bird.

“He would miss me, little one.”  Sebastian smiled at the   disappointed little girl gently, dark eyes closing into upside-down  half  crescents.

“Mari, come here!”  The woman gasped.  

“Mum?”  The girl tilted her head.  “But – “

“Mari, come.   And look only at me.  Only at me understand?  Otherwise you won’t get your  chocolate chip cookies.”

The   little girl’s eyes brightened at the woman’s   promise. “Really?”

“Really.”  The woman wheezed.

“Just close your eyes, Mari. I will carry you.”  Sebastian   interjected, making the woman squeak with  taken-aback  terror.

The little girl watched with awe  as the   black-winged angel  come to her and kneeled in front of her.  He was so big and his wings  looked so soft.

“Wow, so cool.”   Sebastian chuckled at  her adoration-filled  voice.  “Thank you.  Now, be a good little girl and  close your eyes.”

Nodding furiously, the little girl complied and   a moment later, she was pressed to the  warm, solid body and lifted.  She inhaled   the scent - something like cinnamon and   apples reminding her of Christmas.

All too soon, she was   released into her mummy’s   hands, and why was her mummy sad?  And dirty?

“Here you go.” The angel muttered, making her mummy  thank him as she frantically   embraced her.

And then, the  scent of cinnamon and apples vanished, as if it  wasn’t  there in the first place.

Kathryn Peyton and her family   were spared from the Dark Lord’s wrath by something they later deemed a miracle.   Of course both she and   her husband had to undergo counseling and therapy  to deal with the  traumatic memories - first from being tortured and then  form witnessing the outright  murder of their torturers in their living room.   Luckily, the girls were spared, so that was a small ray of sunshine in  otherwise  dark misery  that descended upon them just because they weren’t of Pure blood. 

This hailed the beginning of an one-man crusade   against Death Eaters, much to the Lord Voldemort’s ire and the   Death Eaters’  dread.

The public called the man... _Savior._

* * *

The  newspaper shuffled.

“Really, Michaelis?”   Antares’ raspy voice make  the   black butler  wince.  “I send you out  to   fetch the  necessities and   I get  back a bloody  hero.”

Verdantly colored eye stared at the   chagrined  demon  unflinchingly.

“Hero time,   Michaelis?”   Faustus asked  dryly.  “I am beginning to wonder   whether or not  you are  a true demon.”

Mocha colored eyes narrowed.  “ I am  a demon of a butler, make no mistake of that.  It could be your last.”  Sebastian  muttered back to the  fellow butler  darkly.

“What mistake?”   Claude asked back,   the   glasses glinting ominously.  _“Angel-chan.”_

_CLANG!_

Sebastian’s four knives   made improvised  claws  were  expertly blocked by  the  golden set of   knives   held in the  kumoshitsuji’s  fist.   The  sound  of the cutlery crashing together  created an elegant, if   disorderly sound, making Antares’ eyebrow twitch.

 _“Don’t….”  T_ he black butler smiled  sweetly, making  Faustus  edge away  cautiously “Call me  Angel-chan…. _Ever.  Again.”_

Mocha colored eyes brightened  with a demonic glow  as the  two butlers glared at each  other,  their hands still struggling to  overcome the opponent’s hold.

“You two… Enough!”   At their Master’s rasp, the   two butlers immediately stopped their  struggle,  hiding their claws – ahem, cutlery   behind their backs like little schoolboys.

Dark eyebrow quirking at their actions, Antares tilted his head.

“It indeed complicated our plan, but….” 

The two butlers’   sole attention was now on the scheming smirk of their Master.

That mouth, which hadn’t smiled for so long, was now curved in the faintest of expressions - the expression filled with darkness and malice that sent the involuntary, but pleasurable thrill up their  spines.

“Let’s make their lives a little harder.”

* * *

Since that   failed mission -  really, it was not his fault, but  Lord Voldemort  still gifted him with a  generous dose of Cruciatus -   one  Lucius Malfoy  had   a   bad  day.  Scratch that, he had   bad days as if they were  going out of style, and that was saying something, because  Malfoys didn’t have  bad days. Period.   It was even written in the  Malfoy Chart of Conduct.

Being  a second In command was an  ungrateful job -  filled with perks but an ungrateful job all the same.  Especially now since the appearance of that bloody Savior with his sidekick.

Savior…  Lucius rubbed  the bridge of his nose  as to stave off the headache.  For   someone with such an innocently sounding nickname, the man was a bloody menace.   Literally bloody,   because  he  was one of the most brutal opponents  they had encountered -  and what was  worse,  they never knew where he would  strike next.  

And that was what  differed him from the Order of Phoenix and  Aurors… the man  didn’t have  qualms  of not  getting after his opponents  before  they  struck at him.   And the worst of it was, nothing stopped him.

The Macnairs  had one of  the  best warded  Manors in Great Britain,  and they were still slain like cattle and their  Manor burning as if it  were  a dry wood, soaked in  one of those  Muggle  flammable liquids.  Macnair himself was left in front of his manor,   gutted and   quartered with his own scythe, missing his extremities and yet his wounds were cauterized via   fire, leaving ugly stumps in their  wake.  He lived long enough to tell them who did it, but the question of why remained unanswered.

The Andersons were  a minor family, but still important, as they  had contacts in the underworld.  Yet they were easy pickings – the head of the family went mad, blubbering  something about demons, while his  wife’s body was found  skinned and  devoid of  eyeballs and tongue.  From the  evidence,  the  work was done  manually,  meaning the  person who had done it  had to  be a Muggle -  an especially gifted one, because  they  didn’t   hurt the muscles  -  it was as if they  simply undressed the  female in question, using her skin instead of clothing.

The werewolf pack was significantly smaller, much to  Greyback’s  fury –  Greyback   survived by pure dumb luck, i.e.  having an audience   with Voldemort at the time the  attack had happened.   When  he returned to his den,  Greyback was confronted   by a mass of  corpses, both human and  animal   ones, all of  them  with broken bones   as if something    monstrous  had  played with them,   as if they were little  bugs –crushed legs,  bodies torn in half  as if they  were made  from papier-mache ,  crushed  jaws -   and the scent of   sulfur and  ashes  remaining in  the  damp evening  air.

Whatever -  whoever had done that  -  was a  monster.   Vampires  were excluded, because the bloodsuckers   just didn’t  do the  grunt work like this -  well, Vlad the  Impaler  was an odd duck in that regard, but that  was England, so this possibility was excluded.   Giants were  out -  too  dumb by half, and   stinking  differently, and  one of the  survivors   - blubbered  something about   demon eyes.   Although Greyback  was  no  superstitious sort himself,   he had  to  believe   Vasili -  his  pet  - wouldn’t have lied to him, not  after knowing the  consequences that came with that kind of act.

And to think that was only   the beginning….

Lucius usually wasn’t a fan of overindulging   in alcohol, but right now, he needed something strong.  All his   ‘feelers’ in the Ministry   had been put on the task of discovering the identity of the  Savior… and nothing. Nobody  knew anything useful - and honestly, Lucius  was sick of listening to the  reports of what the  bastard had done -  he knew it well enough, thank you very much, but to  listen to it  twice-  first  at Voldemort’s  feet and then  in the Ministry  was enough to  drive him spare.

“Damn  that  Savior to  the darkest  pits of hell,” he mumbled, as he  reached for  a glass of   finest Firewhisky and  gulped it down in one breath, wincing as the  fiery  heat  rose from the pit of his stomach and  into his head.  The   drink had a kick and  a half, but he wasn’t  desperate  enough to  get into Goblin-brewed liquor  yet.

“Trouble in the paradise?”  The dark voice   asked behind him sardonically,  making  Lucius  flinch.

“Yes, damn it.”  Lucius ground out as he  turned his head  to glare at  the  darkly  clothed  form   that lounged  on  the   couch.   “You know it very well, Severus. “  He exhaled an irritated  sigh as he poured  himself another glass. “At the rate this is going, I will become a drunkard before the   year will be over.” He sniffled disdainfully.

“Ah, a fate worth lamenting.” The dark-haired  man sneered  derisively.   Dark eyes looked  over him, before the man fished something out of  his  pocket.  “Catch.”    Saying that, he threw the small thing, making Lucius  clumsily   snatch it  from the  air.

“Thank Merlin.” Lucius’ weary sigh  was not  faked as he placed the  small  vial on the  desk, looking   at the silvery  black substance   dully.  “Any news from the other front?”

“No. The  Order is  in a tizzy as usual, squabbling like old hags.   Dumbledore is of  course  miserable because   ‘Savior’  apparently doesn’t give  second chances,”   Snape  snarked back, making   Lucius  snort  with  irony.

“So the man isn’t affiliated with him… yet.”  Lucius concluded as he eyed the   full glass of the amber-colored  liquid in his hand  negligently.    It was of a superb quality, but right now,  to Lucius, it seemed   just  as worthless as water.   Luxury  was  long enough  a part of his life that he  was taking it  for granted -  the  white room  with golden accents and   dark burgundy   couches and  carpets made from the finest wool  and  overall elegance of the  ensemble didn’t  take him more than a cursory glance.   It was there and that was all he needed to know.

Gray  eyes looked at the  slouched form on the couch. “You think he could be persuaded to  our side.  Since  Greyback’s losses…”  Both of the men grimaced. _‘Losses’_ was too mild of a  word to describe   that… that… whatever it  was.  Massacre would have been a better word.  But of course, both of them  were  too well-bred to  use  such an uncouth word  as _‘massacre’._

“Yes. No.  Maybe.”  Snape rubbed his eyes tiredly.   “If we could ever stop him  long enough to talk with him.”

Blonde eyebrow twitched with irritation _.  “Stop him?_ We couldn’t even predict where he would hit next.  It’s highest members of echelon first, and the next raid may as well be some alley whores some of the grunts used to relieve themselves of the pressure.”  Lucius snapped back peevishly.  “He is too fast and even my contacts in the underworld know nothing.   It’s as if he had appeared from nothing!“

“You think I _don’t_ know that?”  Snape   snarled back, his crooked teeth even yellower looking In the dim candlelight.   “Fletcher  is useless, I have to  deal  with  the  brats and  dark Lord  has me on  brewing the Lupinsania potion -  which , if I may remind you,  takes precise handling and  timing and to top of it all,  I have to  spy on that blasted Order like some old biddy!”

Lucius cringed.  Looking at  Snape, he  saw the man was  haggard looking -   both the spying  and additional duties were taking the  toll on the man   and  really,   with  Snape being  Voldemort’s  chief spy, the man  had even more duties than  Lucius and none the rest allotted from them.

“Forgive me.” The words  were  heavy  as if he  was  having a lead in his mouth.  “I am… unwell.”

“Aren’t we all.”   A dry snort made  the  Malfoy  head  smile briefly.  Even if   Severus Snape   couldn’t brag about the pureblood lineage, Lucius  came to appreciate  the man’s acerbic wit.  It also helped that the  man was  a very gifted  Potions  Master, because   with that mess,  Lucius  felt he  would be in a  sore need for  pain relieving  potions for a foreseeable future.

“Hm.”  Humming thoughtfully, Lucius turned the glass in his  hands.  “And that mess with  the Carruthers  heir…”

Dark eyes blinked.  “What of it?   Last I heard, the brat made a mess of the Diagon Alley.   Our Lord  was not amused.”

Lucius cringed -  the motion was quick, but  dark  eyes  looking over the   aristocrat knew  enough of  body language  to discern the movement – before  he   returned to his refined persona.  “Muggle.  The brat is a  Muggle.  It shouldn’t have been possible – “

“He is a Wizard -  no  Muggle  can enter the  Alley.”   Snape interrupted him, dark eyes pensive.  “Though I do admit it was  strange that he used  a gun…”

“What an uncouth weapon.”  Lucius sneered disdainfully.  “Loud, unrefined and smelly, just right for the bastard brat like him.  Even if  he is a Carruthers by blood he doesn’t belong to the  Council.”

“You forgot something.  He is also the mutt’s heir.” 

Lucius blinked.   “Mutt’s heir?” he parroted, momentarily   confused, before the gray eyes widened.

“You mean... He is  the Heir of that Sirius Black?”

The greasy-haired man nodded, his face blank.

Lucius collapsed in the chair.  It seemed that his day has become a lot worse.

“Tell me _everything_.” He demanded and knocked back the glass of  Firewhisky,   disregarding the  mild pain as his shocked  brain tried to process the latest bout of news.

 Malfoy  Rules of Conduct be damned, he was getting sloshed tonight.

* * *

The Savior finished another one of the ‘deeds’, leaving behind the ashes and blood.    Vampires may be  faster  and older, but  against  a demon like  him, they were   harmless little flies.  

Besides,  the _‘business’_ was a wonderful  way of de-stressing -   he  didn’t know how  his Master   could cope  with being  locked in that  nuthouse,   but he swore  he  would make  something extra delicious for  him tonight.

Anything to get rid of his little red-haired stalker, after all.   He scowled at the memory.    He finally understood Sebastian’s  dread  with  the  sharp-toothed  Shinigami.   Though, he had to wonder -   was it only   him, or were the redheads natural fangirls?  He shuddered at the idea, resolving to  bury it  into the deepest recesses of his mind.

There was a hoot and  red  eyes slowly  bled back into  unnaturally  gold ones, looking into the night.

A minute later, the   dark shape   changed into  an owl -  a little bit on a small side,  with  big  yellow eyes  and   with  a vermiculated gray –buff plumage darted   forward and down, stretching it’s claws as if  trying to claw him and    when  he  reflexively,   he  raised his  arm, the   small  avian  landed on it, hooting  gently.

Golden eyes blinked as he saw the  letter.  “Letter for me, little one?” 

The little owl hooted again, glaring at him, pecking him on the hand.

“Hm. Not for me, then?”  The man   murmured, his eyes narrowing, making the  owl cringe,  but still hold its ground.

Pale lips  quirked.  “All right, little one.  Will you allow me to relieve  you of it?”

Because demon or not, courtesy always paid... and   he had a soft spot for the balls of feathers… as long as they were predators.

Golden eyes looked over him slowly, before the owl nodded, hooting imperiously as it offered him the  leg with the letter tied on.

Black-gloved fingers quickly relieved the small owl of its burden, and as soon as the owl was free, it  fluttered on the man’s shoulder, prompting a  quirk of  an eyebrow  before   the man placed the  letter into his  jacket.

“Let’s go, then.”

The Savior and the small owl vanished into the night, leaving behind a handful of ashes and darkness.

* * *

Green eye stared at the small owl on the  butler’s shoulder.

The small owl   tilted its head making him blink - and then he had a lapful of the  fluff ball which hooted happily as it  snuggled into the dark blue covers.

The mocha-eyed butler chuckled.  “It seems you have another  admirer,   Master,” he commented, his mouth   covered with one of the  white-gloved hands.

“Shut it,” Antares snarled back crankily.  “Faustus, what is the meaning of this?”

The  bespectacled  butler  reached into his jacket,  pulling out the   envelope  smoothly,   causing Micahelis to  get serious once more.

“A letter for you, Master.”

Green eye narrowed.  “This house is under Fidelius.”  He commented quietly, getting a nod of assent from the  golden-eyed butler.  “True, but this owl appears to be rather clever, as it  followed me  to deliver the letter.”

“And that has nothing to do with you  smuggling it in the house.”   Michaelis drawled, his catty smile sharp and dark eyes serious for once.

“You catering to Crookshanks has nothing to do with it, either.”   Faustus volleyed back, making the mocha-colored eyes widen with surprise.  Faustus smirked at the flustered  _kuroshitsuji,_ but his smirk lasted only until Michaelis  addressed him  again.

“Owl-bitch.”  Michaelis smirked at Faustus’ imperceptible twitch of eyebrow.   Ahh, finally something to   needle him with.

However,   the golden-eyed butler glared back, snapping his retort quickly.

“Cat-whore.”  Michaelis jaw slackened for a second.

Oh, that was _so_ not fair.  Cats ruled over those feathery annoyances for predators any day!  Why  that little spider…

The butlers glared at each other, disregarding the rustling of the paper.

“Can it, both of you.”  Antares cut in.   “And it seems we have another problem.”

“What kind of problem, Master?”  Michaelis asked, still glaring at the   bespectacled butler.

“The  engagement kind of one.”

Both butlers’ eyes widened imperceptibly at their Master’s deadpan answer.

And their  thoughts in that  moment were  mirroring each other.

_‘Oh. Hell. **No.** ’_

“I wasn’t aware  you were engaged, Master.”

Ah, Michaelis. Ever the master of wiggling out the answers.  Faustus wasn’t sure whether  he wanted to thank the irritating black butler or simply whack him one.   Personally, he leaned towards the latter one, but then   Antares would lock him out and that was the fate he avoided with a fervor. 

Antares looked at them briefly.  “I wasn’t.  However, this person wants to use me as a fiancé to get out of   the Death Eater service. “ 

“Ah, of course. “  Sebastian’s  voice  sounded as if he just ate a lemon.  

Slender eyebrow lifted.  “Michaelis, are you coming down with a cold?”  Antares looked at the butler  who smiled uncomfortably.  “No, Master. However, I have a bad feeling about this… suitor, if you will.”

The white-haired youth sighed. “I admit this is a little… unexpected, but it could be a good foothold into the Council. “

“Or a good trap.” Faustus countered, dark eyebrows minutely furrowed as he looked at the Master   disapprovingly.

“That too.” Antares agreed mildly.  “However, the gains in this case outweigh the losses and besides, she wasn’t one of those fools that spouted the pureblooded propaganda.

“How would you know that?”  Michaelis purred out dangerously.  “The shyest flowers can be the most poisonous ones, Master.   You   did   admit that you   had insufficient knowledge of this world, and now you would trust   this…. girl – _‘bint’-_ he added in his mind - “to   be   straight as a ruler in her dealings with you?”

“I don’t.” Antares’ answer snapped Michaelis’ mouth shut.   “Truthfully,  I trust  her  as  much as the sun is cold, but the  game has  to  go on, and  it seems   it’s my  turn to draw the  next  card.”

The small owl hooted approvingly, making Antares gently   scratch the top of its head, making the small bird push into the gentle fingers, demanding form more petting,   making Antares chuckle with amusement as he fulfilled the owl’s  command.

In that singular moment, the two butlers felt inexplicably jealous of the flying carnivorous chicken something terrible, even going so far as to glare at the cozied-up owl who  fluffed out its  feathers smugly as it  winked at the  demon  duo  challengingly.

That owl… _Had to go._

“Michaelis, you will research her.   I want everything - names,  grades,  favorites,  pets,  the works.   Faustus, find out everything about the Gray Alliance.”  The verdantly-colored eye darkened as Antares pondered the  new pieces of puzzle he was given.

“What about you, Master?”  Faustus dared to ask, making his Master’s attention  switch to him.

“Me?” Antares  hummed  a small tune under his breath.  “I believe I have a letter to write to my supposed fiancé.”

“Not until we have all the information, Master.”  Sebastian growled out,   mocha-colored eyes flashing  demonic red for a  moment.  “I believe it’s  your bathing time and then in bed with you.”

Antares sent him a long-suffering  glare.  “I took one before.”  He complained, but  his complaint was muffled  as  Faustus  scooped him, making the  owl  squawk  with indignation as it had to  furiously  flutter its wings as not to fall on the  floor.

“Ah, but Master, cleanliness is godliness.”  Michaelis smiled a catty smile at him, making Antares groan with exasperation.

“There is cleanliness and there is clean- _freakishness,_ Michaelis. “ Antares pointed out dryly. “And I believe you are dangerously near the latter one.”

“All the better to faster heal you with.”   Michaelis  responded mildly.  “So, shall we?”

“If what you said was true, then I would have to be the  world’s  healthiest  man.”  Antares snarked back.  “Sadly,   as you can see, this is not the case.”

“Meaning, you need more baths still.”  Faustus interjected.

Antares shook his head dejectedly.

“Let’s just get that over with, shall we?” He sighed despondently, resigning to his fate.

The letter fluttered on the floor, revealing an elegant script, finally revealing the sender.

_... Zubeida Khan._

 


	15. Make Yourself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji or its' characters... but I do own this lil' story.

* * *

_MAKE YOURSELF_

_If I hadn't made me, I would've been made somehow.._  
If I hadn't assembled myself, Id've fallen apart by now.  
If I hadn't made me, I'd be more inclined to bow.  
Powers that be, would have swallowed me up  
But that's more than I can allow.

( _“Make Yourself”,_ by _Incubus_ )

Green eye stared at the two squabbling teenagers disinterestedly. He was not in the least inclined to  spend his time  with the brats, but  being sensible,  albeit  aloof heir of  that Black mutt came  with some unpleasant obligations, and one of them was  being babysitter  to the two -  technically three, if counting in Ginny -  teenager  who resided  in the Grimmauld Place. He held  back  a grimace of  distaste  as once again,  the boy whined about the girl’s  obsessive  need to  go over  the   summer homework again and again, and  really, this  was getting –

“ – sure that Antares  agrees with me.  Don’t you?”  He blinked slowly as the girl turned to him, brown eyes looking at him  in a mixture of pleading bossiness…. If that was even possible. 

“Granger, do you really _need_ to drag me into one of your squabbles again?”  He pointed out dryly,   speaking the last word with long-suffered exasperation that made the  girl  wince. “Uh… Sorry?”  She tried to  apologize, bot Antares’ flat  stare  told her in no uncertain terms  that she was trying  his nerves.  “I - I’m sorry, but homework is important - how else could’ve learn otherwise?”  She  defended  feebly, biting her lip  anxiously, as  she looked at him.

It wasn’t  often, but occasionally, Antares  joined  them in the living room, mostly as a silent observer,  and all of  Hermione’s numerous  questions  were either politely rebuffed or she had been told outright that it wasn’t appropriate. It  made  the  bushy-haired girl positively  aggravated  that the  information was  denied to her,  and  even more,  that Antares was like an ice block in dealing with them.   At first, she had thought it was only  that  he was shy – new surroundings and so on, but   days passed, and  Antares  behaved the same  as he had  when he came to live in the  house.   She had tried almost everything – talking about Muggle world, then Wizarding world, even going so far as to ask him about some of the more obscure customs, and still nothing!  It was just like talking with a mute person, with the exception this particular ‘mute’ person spoke out once in a blue moon.  And  Ron  had  received his fair share of punishment from Sirius,   despite Mrs. Weasley’s  protests. She still couldn’t believe his tactlessness  in confronting  Antares -  Ron had outright accused  the Carruthers Heir  of  consorting with the ‘ferret’ -  aka  one  Draco Malfoy, and  that caused the whole shebang of insults  following and  consequent  punishment for the  foot-in-mouth-cursed  youngest  Weasley male.    She looked at the Carruthers heir critically.

For once, shoulder length  hair  was loose, white strands  framing his face and making a stark contrast with the  black eye patch – Hermione  once asked how  did he  lose the eye, and Antares answer was short and  simple -   torture.   The tone he had spoken this little word with made her shut up immediately and for once, she cursed her overly inquisitive nature.  

Antares was clothed in  comfortable  dark blue trousers and  deep gray and  white  pullover, making him  see  like   a pale speck of  dirt against the  dark and drab surroundings.  He was sitting on the leather couch elegantly, his left hand holding a book loosely, as if he was uncaring of its  contents and overall value - Hermione   gulped.   Sirius had given his heir the free reign of library,,  and that rankled her, because  no matter how much she begged  the  doggy  Marauder, she was always denied the entrance. He was still paler than   was healthy, but at least he wasn’t such a ghost-like apparition anymore.  One of the butlers -  this time was  the  bespectacled one -  stood behind him, like some kind of a sentinel, ready, willing and able to be at service,  and if needed be, to battle. The other one  had some errands to  do,  which Antares didn’t  deem  important  to be told to the Order.  This   also rankled Hermione - Antares should have deferred to the Dumbledore, but instead, the youth was stubbornly sticking up like   some kind of a sore thumb. And much to her bewilderment,   Dumbledore didn’t do a whit  about  his rebellious attitude.

“On his own time?”  Antares suggested sarcastically, interrupting her line of thought  rather abruptly,  that  dark green eye of his  watching her  mockingly.  “You are not his watchdog - he can pass or  fail at his leisure.”

“What he said – “Ron piped up, smirking, before he blinked.  “Wait.   You just insulted me, didn’t you?”  He glared at the Antares, the tips of his ears reddening.

“Did I?”  Antares counter-asked back archly, tilting his head just so as he inspected the book paper  lazily.  Ron  glared.  “Whatever.” He muttered as he turned away.

“Master, it’s time for us to depart,”  The  butler interrupted the   squabble  as he leaned over, plucking  the book from Antares’  hand - Hermione blinked, as for  a moment,  the gesture was too intimate for a Servant to execute -  it was something friends did, or  lovers,  but they were Master and Servant –

White eyebrow quirked. “Already?”  Antares muttered as he stood up.“But of course.” The bespectacled butler muttered, his  yellow eyes hidden behind glasses and lowered eyelids.  “You did say you wanted to be there half an hour before.”

“That I did.”  Antares agreed, nodding as he   headed to the   door, his  servant  following him like some kind of  a  human shadow.

“Wait!”  She called out, making the duo halt.  “Where are you going?  Dumbledore said – “

“It’s none of your business.” The butler interrupted her, yellow eyes behind square glasses narrowing, making her flinch under his passive - aggressive glare.  “My Master is here as a gesture of a goodwill on his part, and he can come and go whenever and wherever he pleases.  You have no authority to be privileged of knowing if his comings and goings. You are just a guest here, and not even particularly polite one. Learn your manners.  Until then, good day.”

Flinching, she averted her gaze as she pouted at the apparent unfairness of being disallowed to the privileged information, thus missing the soft click of  the  door being closed.

* * *

Antares glanced at his butler. “You’re in a fine form today.” He commented, before looking away, his thoughts already on the next task.  The golden-eyed butler inclined his head as he held out the dark gray cloak to the white-haired youth.  “Thank you, Master.” If Antares had sensed his voice was a little tense, the young noble didn’t comment on it, and that both assured and disappointed the spider butler.  He had been similarly disregarded in the past - not with that fake Trancy – but his other  Master had  more or less ignored him,  except  for when  some task had to be done.  So it was an irksome surprise that the one he wanted his attention on his person, was clearly dismissing him as if he were a yesterday’s news. Add that to the ever-rising want for the youth’s blood and with the recent news of Antares’ supposed fiancée, and here you go, one very grumpy and slightly mentally unstable _kumoshitsuji._ Michaelis had it  somewhat easier, because his last meal was properly  filling, but Claude’s just made him a wee bit loopier at times,  forcing him to keep a tight rein of his unconscious impulses, like that one when he wanted to  bite the nape of his Master’s neck and slurp down  that  delicious red substance –

“Snap out of it, Faustus!”  A sharp voice made him flinch as he blinked dumbly at the pale skin barely a finger’s breadth away from his nose. Just what the - _Oh._   He jerked up hastily, feeling a warmth suffuse his cheeks at his uncouth behavior. ”I apologize, Master. I don’t know what had come over me.”  He muttered, ashamed, inwardly berating himself for the faux pas he had almost done.

“I don’t care about it, but keep your head in the game.”  Antares snapped  back, the single  green eye glaring at him  briefly as he almost snatched the cloak  from the butler’s slackened hands – failing  at the last moment because Claude swiftly snatched it away, only  to gently place it around the small, slender shoulders a moment later, acting  as if nothing happened. “Indeed.”  The blue butler commented, his voice drier than desert, making Antares  sigh with exasperation as he allowed the butler to close the garment and choosing to disregard the small flash of fuchsia  color  passing across the golden irises.

Half an hour later, the duo was accompanied to the modestly decorated room in Gringotts bank.  Despite both of his butlers’ protests, Antares had replied to the letter and agreed to the meeting with his prospective fiancée- but only if they met in Gringotts. Usually, the protocol was to choose a neutral place and conduct such a business  there, but  Antares didn’t trust Miss Khan enough to  choose  any of the  traditional places and not tweak it to  his advantage, so he opted  for renting a room in Gringotts for a foreseeable future for such dealings - he was not under any delusions that this would be  the first and the last encounter with wizards, however necessary and loathsome they would be. But beggars cannot be choosers, and for his plan, Antares needed other foothold in the Wizarding World than only his convict of a father, useless Order of Flaming Chicken and a couple of school kids.

The room was tastefully furnished in a dark wood while the floor was tiled with deep gray stones that had intriguing silver lines occasionally crossing the surface.  In the middle of the room, there was a table for two, made from mahogany and cherry wood - the dark brown almost black wood complimented the silky deep red shine magnificently. The high-backed chairs were made from the same wood, with deep gray velvet cushions just waiting for the person to sit down on and lean against. The chandelier was simple – some crystal baubles hanging from the  ceiling on delicate silver strands, twisting down toward  table in a double helix, the baubles glowing  with a warm light The room exuded a sense of calm and something more - whether that something  was good or bad,  it was bound to be seen.

Antares eyed the surroundings critically. The room would have been more appropriate for a romantic tryst than the type of negotiation he would soon commence against his opponent. However, he had to hand it to the goblins or whoever decorated the place - they clearly knee what they were doing.

Silently, his butler took off his cloak, meticulously placing it over his arm. If there had to be a fault with the room, it was that there wasn’t any hook to hang the cloak on - but no matter.

A small sound alerted them to the opening the door. And there she was.

She was a little taller than Antares and clothed in a sensible ensemble of maroon-colored coat with the wooly dress in the same color with light gray edges made from silk. The combination enhanced her wheat pale hair that was gathered in a simple loose braid. Her face was oval, with pale pink lips and curiously grayish green eyes.

And then she opened her mouth.

“Lord Carruthers, I presume?” Her voice was soft like water whispering over the stones. Overall, she seemed to be the kind of proper and prim lady the society would delight to have in its midst, but Antares was not fooled. Behind all that softness and feminine curves, there was an iron-forged will and cunningness.

There needn’t to be any guess to her identity.

“Thank you for your kindness. I am Zubeida Khan, I am honored to meet you.”

Antares inclined his head stiffly. “Likewise, lady Khan.” He gestured to the chairs. “Shall we?”

* * *

She didn’t think what to think about the enigmatic Lord Carruthers. She knew he was ruthless and he was against Death Eaters and she knew he was of a proper lineage, but meeting the person the Daily Prophet was blubbering about in person was another experience entirely.

After she had sent the letter, there was a nervous expectation, filled with moments of dread and apathy. She dreaded to get the letter, be it rejection or acceptance - but the curious thing was, she dreaded the acceptance even more so than she had the rejection. When  she had  received the letter -   it was, curiously, delivered by the crow,  she half-whished it would have been a rejection one, so that all of this would be done and over with -  and yet,  there was the other half of her that clambered for  assistance, nudging her  with the ‘what if’  scenarios. What if she was rejected?  Then she would have to enter the Dark Lord’s service, and with her beauty, they all knew what would part of ‘services’ entail. If she were to be accepted by the Lord Carruthers, then… what?

It was on a whim she had written that letter, half-panicked with the fear of being in the Dark Lord’s employ - she wished that neither for herself nor for her parents – however there was few of the nobles that could grant her protection enough to be exempt from the Dark Lord’s ire, be that by his, or by his followers’ hands. Indeed, Hogwarts wasn’t the safe haven Dumbledore preached it to be, and not only for Gryffindors. The inter-house politics were a terrible thing, and she was walking on thin ice as it were just because she didn’t joint Malfoy’s clique. There was a meager safety when Potter had been attending the school, as Malfoy’s focus was mostly on him then - so much that the inner joke between gray Slytherins was that he had to have hots for the resident Gryffindor Golden Boy. However, with Potter’s arrest, there was bound to be change, and not for the best.

When she read the letter, she felt so strong relief she was almost sick with it. This… was her ticket out, now it only remained that she convinces him to agree to her proposal.

From then on, it was a simple matter of arranging the date and time, and she had dug deep in her wardrobe to find something that didn’t practically scream ‘Slytherin! Get over there!’ was practical enough and mundane enough to be unnoticed, yet high-class enough to represent her as a marriage prospect along with her status as the noble.

She had snuck out of the Khan Manor easily enough – her parents had gone to visit the Greengrasses, so she was free to do as she would.  Her only regret was that she was doing this behind her parents’ backs, but it couldn’t be helped.

And now, here she was, sitting opposite him, staring in his lone eye.

Apart from greetings, there was silence in the room as they stared at each other.  She barely eyed Lord Carruthers’ butler - he was only an unimportant person, anyway - and instead concentrated on the contest of wills between them.

He had white hair now…. How curious.  She itched to ask what had prompted this little hairy makeover, but got the feeling it would be unwise to choose this particular subject.  The green eye was a stark contrast to the whiteness of the tresses, along with the pitch dark blackness of the eye patch. His face was pale and aristocratic looking, and if she were a lesser girl, Zubeida would have swooned at him. However, this appearance was jagged only by the sheer coldness of his eye - she felt as if she were observed by an ice glacier who was about to overwhelm her with its sheer, merciless coldness.

The silence between strained, until it finally reached the breaking point.

“Talk.” Short, simple and cruel. Zubeida  blinked.  No, not cruel, but merely… _Indifferent._ She inhaled and began.

“I need your help.” She began, without any preamble. “I don’t want to join Dark lord, and Dumbledore isn’t an option.” Blunt - maybe too much, and her Slytherin compatriots would have disowned her out of the principle, but she was on losing side anyway.  She didn’t care about how - all it mattered was that she got her point across.  And if she sounded like an overly-blubbery Gryffindor - or, Merlin forbid, Hufflepuff - then so be it.  “Since Potter’s incarceration, Slytherin isn’t a safe place for me anymore. The only solution for me to be more or less safe is to be engaged, because then they can’t touch me without my fiancé’s agreement.”

The green eye remained emotionless. “Why me?” Lord Carruthers asked, his fingers interlaced in front of his mouth, muffling the words slightly.

Zubeida winced. “Because you are not affiliated with any house.” She answered as she lowered her  eyes, nibbling her lower lip absentmindedly. "Gryffindors are too steeped in Light and under Dumbledore’s thumb. The same is with Hufflepuffs - besides, there aren’t many of a notable lineage there. Ravenclaws are sitting on two fences - I couldn’t be sure if I chose right, and besides,  if I chose  a fiancé among them,  there is a greater chance  they could be convinced to break the engagement.”

“So an outsider would be a safer option,” Antares concluded, making her nod in agreement. “However.” She stiffened.  Here it goes. “Why me?” The pale hands still obstructed the lower half of his face - for all purposes and intents he seemed to be a statue -  cold, emotionless, living statue, clothed in the finest threads  available. Zubeida found a ball of resentment churl in her gut at the sight. Here she was, offering the lout everything - practically _everything_ for the mere breadcrumbs of his protection, and he had the _gall_ of just sitting here, not being affected to her plight!

She was used to the boys looking at her, undressing her with their eyes, leering at her - she had gotten some salacious propositions since she was in Hogwarts, and not all of them were from the boys in her year. She was fairly confident in her womanly charms, so this meeting was like an ice shower for her.  Not even a quarter In it, and her subtle advances were repelled effortlessly - she was no Veela, but this was ridiculous!

“Because you are alone.  You don’t stand with Dumbledore, nor with the Dark Lord, and besides, the Gray alliance needs you, now more than ever. “She blurted out, clenching her hands into fists in an effort to appear calm.

“Why should I throw my lot with this… so-called Gray Alliance?”  The white-haired Lord asked, as he finally released his hands from their half in front of his face.  “The Wizarding World had done nothing for me, nor had it for my Mother. She was scorned because she had me and didn’t marry the man who helped to conceive me. The prestige and influence of the Carruthers’ name was torn down just because of the thoughtless deeds of one boy who couldn’t keep it in his pants and was too cowardly to admit his mistake and accept the repercussions. What would you - and they - gain from consorting with the _‘Disgrace of Carruthers’?”_ She jerked at the degrading nickname, her pretty eyes widening minutely. It had been talked about merely in whispers, but still talked about in the higher echelons. Even if they were nobles, they weren’t immune to gossip, especially when it was so juicy like the Carruthers case. It had been doubly as interesting because with Carruthers family out of the picture, the Gray Alliance’s power block waned quickly, their members being torn between the Light and Dark faction respectively.

Antares watched the girl fidgeting on the chair stoically. Inwardly, he was smirking about her discomfort. If she had though he would be an easy prey to swindle in her nets, she was sorely mistaken. Besides, he was curious about her answer. Carruthers may have been disgraced, that much was true, but that still belied the question just why should he join the faction that did nothing when he was accused of some specific charges. Not that it mattered, but in some weird, twisted way, it was a matter of principle.  Scratch that, he just wanted to see them squirm. Heavens knows they needed  some quality squirming after all that  bullshit they had unknowingly put him through.

Her unusual eyes darkened as she glared at him, breaking out of the shell of shy maiden she had so carefully woven around her persona.  “You may be right, but that still doesn’t give you a right to accuse them of not helping you, especially when you have shown no hair or hide in the Wizarding World!” She growled out, incensed. “How were they supposed to help you if they didn’t know about your existence?” Antares inclined his head. “I concede that point to you, but they could’ve done more still. Where were they when my mother needed help when she had to leave school?  Where were they when Potter was accused of breaking the Statue of Secrecy? If they are really _that_ much for the equality, and for protection of magical races, where were they when there was a petition on administration of Wolfsbane potion in year 1995?” Where were they when there was a clearly underage person, forced to compete in Triwizard Tournament, which is _clearly_ age-limited and that for a reason?  Where were they when it was announced that the Dark Lord was back?”

She couldn’t help but wilt under the accusations. “They - We didn’t have a choice. Our voting block is small as it is, and most of the supporters defected to either Light or Dark  faction.”

“Ah.  And what makes you the authority on the rise of the new Gray Alliance?  For that matter,   how are you even _sure_ the Gray Alliance would have enough supporters if I join in the fray?”

Grayish green eyes looked in the lone viridian colored one firmly. “Because Carruthers is a lynchpin of the Gray Alliance.”

The air between the duo tensed.  “Lynchpin…”  Antares muttered, tilting his head on the side lightly.

 _Of course._ That changed everything.

Lynchpins were the families that knowingly or not, created alliances, be they temporary or not.  Alliances could last for the time, mostly it was an onetime, and rarely a life time deal, but the rarest one was the kind that spanned into decades and centuries onward. Carruthers family may not be a Most Ancient one, but it was a Noble one, and what they lacked in ancestry, they compensated with the sheer number of their connections, making themselves respected and feared in the politics, because their voice was not the voice of one, but the voice of many. Not even the most savvy politicians of their times could be completely sure of the number of votes Carruthers  actually  had under their command -  but the fact remained -  if you wanted  for  a proposal  to be accepted in the Winzegamot, then you better have a Carruthers’ Head of House on your side. If there ever happened that the lynchpin was killed, then the entire  thing disbanded in a disarray, until the time the new  one was  established – be that by some other family or  by the distant blood  relative of the original lynchpin.

Because magic was weird like that, through the time the lynchpin families existed - the longer they held the position of the lynchpin, the stronger the alliances were, and the greater was risk of disbanding of the said alliances upon the death of the lynchpin family, because magic made the lynchpin families downright _essential_ to the existence of alliances. In short, it was like lynchpin family being an essential component to the dangerously unstable chemical mixture of the other families. When the lynchpin family was present, the cogs of alliance ran smoothly, but  if the lynchpin was missing – and  not _missing_ because of  flu or something, but _missing_ as the lynchpin family  members being dead, then all of the cogs crashed and burned.  Such was the case of the Pendragon family – after King Arthur’s death, the entire kingdom of Britannia fell in chaos and disorder. Of course, there were rumors of Arthur’s descendant, but they were neither proven or disproven.

And now, one Antares Carruthers found himself in the position of being the head of the Carruthers’ family, and with that, the lynchpin of the Gray Alliance.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Antares squeezed his eyes shut as to quell the sudden headache.

Oh, yes, his life was just _wonderful._

 “Master?  Are you alright?” He heard Faustus concerned vice murmur in his ear. “No, I am not.”  He muttered back bluntly as he  allowed himself one last rub before he removed his hand and opened the eye, glaring at the girl sitting at the opposite end of the desk.

“So… you want me to resurrect the Gray Alliance and take you under my proverbial wing at the same time.” He surmised the information crisply, not showing that he was still reeling from the possibilities and plans this new factor presented to him.

“Yes.”  Short and concise,  as behooved of the true member of Slytherin house.

Antares sighed. “How do you imagine that supposed engagement would even protect you?” He asked wearily. “I may be outside of the reach of Death Eaters and their master, but you will be in the danger still.”

Zubeida smiled a small, barely there, smile. “Ah, and that is the beauty of it, Lord Carruthers. With you being back, both of the sides will clamor for your favor, and they won’t do anything to make you displeased. This also means that anyone you would take under your protection or name would be exempted from the usual rules of engagement.”

 _‘Is that chick even sane in her head?’_ Antares eyed her doubtfully. “Miss Khan, you are mistaken on one thing. The era of chivalry has long since passed, and if you think that you would be safe just because you would be wearing one measly engagement ring, you are sorely mistaken.”  He snapped back, making her happy face fell at the newsflash.

“Probably.” She agreed, now serious once again. “But you forgot something. You are not only Lord Antares Carruthers, the Head of the Noble House of Carruthers… you are the lynchpin for the Gray Alliance. With you being back, you are not only one anymore; you are _many._ ”

Antares twitched. The girls was clearly insane, playing the game she didn’t even know whether the players would favor her case. She was babbling about some kind of Alliance, which was clearly in ruins, and with Antares being what he was – a Disgrace of Carruthers - the proposed plan was doubly in the favor of the failure. But, she was insistent; he could give her props for that.

“I stand by what I promised you in the letter, my Lord.” He heard her voice speak out again. “I can give you anything  you  could ask for – _anything,_   and I am willing to  forego holding you to  the obligations  on your side, just-“ he voice broke, as for the  second time,  the young woman’s hard exterior crumbled, showing a vulnerable, scared little girl underneath – “Please, let me be your fiancé.”

* * *

Never before was Claude so tense when he witnessed the negotiation, not even when there were overwhelming odds against him and his then Masters.  But then again, he hadn’t been so very invested into the proceedings as he was now,  and the situation his Master was in was indeed tempting, much to his chagrin.

He would have glared at the presumptuous chit, but this would be unbecoming of a butler like him. The worst thing was, he had to be silent and wait on his Master’s decision on whether or not would he accept the girl.  And truthfully, Claude wished -with all of his being – that his Master would have rejected her advances, no matter how clandestine they may appear to be.

He moved a fraction closer to his Master, taking a minute comfort in his presence and the scent of ashes and rain, intermixed with blood. It was a subtle scent, hidden under the scent of soap, but still lingering in the air, subtle, here and dangerous. The  blue butler  lowered his eyelids as  he remembered his almost  _faux-pas_   when he was helping  his Master don the cloak,  but this nape was just too delicious, and he was a moment’s  breath  from  tasting it, damn it!  He inwardly pouted at the sheer injustice of his dastardly deed being interrupted at the most unwelcome time imaginable.  He  dreaded to think just what would Michaelis say if he had known about his little indiscretion -  and immediately after, he dreaded his Master’s  penchant  for using their  little  mistakes against them. Antares  wasn’t  a petty sort -  he didn’t take amusement from many  things or  happenings,  but  he seemed to  derive  a  sadistic glee out of needling both him and  Michaelis with their perceived failures.  True, both of the butlers were also at fault, what with sniping at each other, and at some memorable occasions, trying to upstage each other, but   such occasions had rather annoyed their Master than made him amused. However, he truly didn’t hesitate to barb them with little reminders of their… incompetence. Like the one   time Michaelis just had to intervene and make himself that damned moniker of a _‘Savior’._   Oh, if the demon world had known about this, they would have keeled over with laughter.  And Claude didn’t appreciate being called owl-bitch, thank you very much. He just catered to the magnificent species like they deserved to be catered to, while Michaelis just had to go and fixate on that orange rug ball of bad temper which masqueraded as Granger’s familiar.

They had their disagreements, however in the end; both of the butlers served and obeyed their Master, sure in their place alongside him. But if that girl managed to get between them and their Master… there would be hell to pay.

“I will think about it.” Antares’ voice jolted the spider butler out of his snit, involuntarily making his eyes snap open as he looked at the crushed girl at the other side of the table smugly.

_‘Take that, you little bitch’._

The girl nodded, her eyes hurt, even if she tried not to show the decision affected her. “Thank you for your consideration, lord Carruthers.” Her deceptively soft voice quivered with suppressed emotions.

Antares nodded. “I will mail you when I will decide.”  His hoarse voice crackled in the room like the twigs in the warm fire.

She dipped her head. “Of course.”

* * *

They safely made it home and Antares didn’t think much when they entered the house. They silently went past the umbrella stand and the portrait –both of them were less clumsy than a certain pink -  haired Auror, after all, and the  portrait was muffled via the heavily enchanted curtain.

However, as soon as they entered Antares’ room, the white haired-teen was spun around and slammed against the wall, his breath taken from his lungs by the shock of powerful hit.

“You are playing with fire, _Master_.” The velvety smooth voice purred in bewildered Antares’ ear dangerously. “You are thinking on adding that stray bitch, aren’t you?”

Slender eyebrows furrowed as Antares kept on an emotionless mask. “And what if I am?” His voice was perfectly bland, even if a bit chilly at the butler’s insubordination.

“This… is not the wisest course, Master.” Faustus’s deep voice breathed into his ear, the warm air tickling the sensitive skin there, making Antares tilt his head.

“No, it isn’t.” Antares agreed, corners of his lips lifting in a pale imitation of smile. “But the chance for choices had long since passed. I will do what I must to get my revenge.”

Surprisingly, that didn’t placate the bespectacled demon any. Golden eyes tinted with shades of fuchsia narrowed. “Even if that means bedding her?  Fucking her?” The smooth voice lowered into a growl that made the white haired teen blink with bewilderment and the fake smile on his lips vanish.

“If needed be.” The single green eye narrowed. “What is it to you?” Antares hissed, exasperated. “You agreed to be my butler and to obey me. I don’t recall that I wanted an overprotective demon nanny on the top of the list!” He tried to push the butler away, but the demon stood firm, making him huff with annoyed exasperation.

“I don’t agree with it. It all reeks of a setup of some kind.” Faustus bit out as he glared at his unrepentant Master.  Green eye narrowed.  “Oh?  Are you trying to tell me your researching skills are faulty, then?”

“No, but – “

“Then what’s the matter?”  Antares rounded on him, finally succeeding to push him away. “I betroth myself to her, got a power base and we can mess the bastards’ plans even more!” His voice rose with frustration. He really didn’t understand just why his butler was so stubborn just out of the blue. His left temple throbbed as the headache that was budding in his skull finally exploded.  Closing his eyes, he rubbed the ailed place with fingertips gently.  “You know what - I don’t need your approval.  Whatever bug had bitten you, get it over with, and soon. I will accept Zubeida’s offer and you will be silent on this issu – mmph!”

He was silenced as the butler swiftly kissed him, soft lips on his ones, and then a foreign tongue invaded his mouth as those strong hands held his shoulders in possessive hold.

**_SLAP!_ **

As soon as Claude initiated kiss -  even if it  lasted only for a moment, before Antares broke it and he felt a stinging pain on his left cheek.

 _“Get out.”_ His Master’s voice was positively sub-zeroed. Fuchsia-colored eyes with the shards of golden color widened as Claude looked at Antares positively apoplectic face.

“How _dare_ you, you bastard…. **_GET OUT!”_** The last two words were practically roared out and he had to wince as the tattoo on his hand blazed with the strength of thousand fires.

“Master...” Claude began, at a loss on what to do.  He wanted to go, the tattoo compelled him into going away, but looking at him, at Antares, all messy white hair, dark green eye finally showing  some emotions and a flushed face with that slim, slender body trembling in front of his – it was almost impossible.

“You heard me, Faustus.” The teen growled out. “Go. _Now.”_

Reluctantly, the _kumoshitsuji_ bowed his head.

“As you will, Master.”

Hesitantly, he released the shoulder he had clutched as he kissed the boy and stepped away. A step. One more.

A turn.

And then, finally, he was at the door and a scant few moments later, the doors closed, leaving his Master alone in the room.

Gloved hand gently touched the slapped cheek. He still felt the heat of the slap, but he remembered the feel of that small, roughened hand even more, and his mind still lingered on that kiss.

Soft. Bittersweet. _Addictive._

A pink tongue lapped at the pale lips as the dark-haired butler smirked.

“A battle to you, Master.” He muttered as he pushed up the glasses, the gold now almost completely dominating the previously almost-fuchsia-colored iris. “But don’t think you will win a war.”

Because demons were possessive, and one Claude Faustus knew just what he wanted to do with the delicious morsel called Antares Carruthers.

* * *

Meanwhile, a certain black butler shuddered as he got a premonition that someone managed to tread unto until now unsullied territory.

And he had a damned good guess on just who the bastard in question as.

He twitched.

“Seems someone will have a large helping of spider meat for dinner soon… if I can help it.” He muttered darkly to himself, as he pleasantly smiled at the grocery girl who blushed fire engine red, totally smitten with the butler’s flawless looks.

Sebastian sighed. Being that pretty was a hindrance - this was the third grocery shop he had to switch to avoid being recruited by overzealous model hunters or smitten fan girls. All because he didn’t want to use ingredients grown or bought in the Wizarding world.

Seriously, paranoia was such a hassle sometimes…

He hummed as he thought about the menu for the tonight’s dinner. And of course, a surprise for a certain...mutt. Nobody aside from his Master would be privy to his cooking, and the dumb dog had done the capital offense of stealing a whole pineapple and chocolate cream pie for himself.

If he had to school the dumb dog the hard way, so be it.

A wicked smirk made some of the spectators blanch and look away quickly.

He may be pretty as a button – drop-dead gorgeous, in fact - but he was still demon of a butler.

Believe it.

* * *

A certain mutt shuddered as a bad premonition skittered up his spine. The last time it had been Lily when he had taught Harry to fly a baby broom, but this time, it was something unknown, malicious and intent on causing him suffering of an untold magnitude.

“Why do I have a feeling that my life would be completely screwed up soon?”

One Remus Lupin asked himself before continuing to search for the secret stash of Hershey’s chocolate.

It would just have to tide him over until one of those scrumptious pies would appear again.

* * *

The lynchpin was found. And whether they knew or not, the battle lines would be drawn again -  already,  the bonds were  repairing, the Khan and Carruthers families standing together once again -  still weak, still at the  beginning and it was doubtful that the young boy would even manage to raise the broken Grey Empire out of its ashes, but…

Dark brown eyes looked at the tapestry as the wheat-haired man hummed an ancient song under his breath.

_It was the beginning._

 


	16. Learn To Fly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own neither Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji or their characters or.. you get the drift. I only own this story as it is.
> 
> Summary: He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now, he is back, but not alone.Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed.
> 
> Shout Out: /Twitches/. I am sorry for updating so late, my beta is apparently up to her gills in schoolwork and she would apparently be so for some time. So this version is unbeta-ed, and I will upload the beta-ed version when I will upload next chapter, so if you happen to get double notice next time, ignore the first one. /Twitches again/. That said, I wish you happy reading.
> 
> Warnings: Can we say butlers laying siege on Mount Antares? /innocent whistle/

 

 _Run and tell all of the angels_  
This could take all night  
Think I need a devil to help me  
Get things right

_('Learn To Fly', by Foo Fighters)_

* * *

 

He hadn’t been so furious since… ever, he supposed.  Antares slammed the bathroom door shut as he hurried to the sink to clean out his mouth.  What the fuck was that stupid demon thinking, accosting him like that!? He seethed to himself as he  grabbed his tooth brush and  irately squeezed a generous  helping of  the  toothpaste on, before shoving it in his  mouth and  furiously  brushing his teeth, trying to get rid of the demon’s taste and the feeling of being irreparably defiled. He still remembered those lips and that wicked tongue sampling his own and the taste of cranberry tea and something spicy and sharp that was the demon’s own. He still remembered the demon’s scent - crisp and fresh, like winter and ashes intermixed, that strength against him –

He felt a furious heat invade his cheeks, and he gargled out a muffled curse.

He didn’t recall to subscribing to all that emotional shit when he forged the contract!

“That shitty demon….” He growled to himself as he spat out the frothy mixture of toothpaste and saliva.  His tongue was tingling from the harsh strokes and his teeth were smooth and tasting like mint and that should have been the end of it, but no - he  wiped his mouth  with a dampened corner of the towel furiously, making them tingle, just like they had when the demon kissed him.

“How dare he tell me what I should or shouldn’t do!” He seethed to himself, as he swiftly scrubbed his toothbrush before putting it back to its designated place.

If he wanted to marry that Khan girl, just who was that fucker to tell him no?

 _‘A demon._ ’ His subconscious  whispered to him.  _‘The one who rescued you from that hellhole of an Azkaban.’_

Dark green eye narrowed. That was the truth.  But that still didn’t mean the demon could take privileges with his person like this!  He fumed, as he clenched the edge of the sink, his body trembling and his heart hammering hundred miles per hour.

There was no emotion, only revenge. This had become his creed when he had gone through the healing and rehabilitation -  he swore to himself to  have his emotions under iron-clad control -  that he would govern his emotions, and yet,  only a small kiss, and everything,  all of his hard-earned control, was ruined.

Somewhere In the deepest recesses of his mind something cackled with glee and Antares clamped down on it mercilessly, trying to snuff it out, to close it back to the small cage it had been curled in. 

He didn’t want this. He _never_ wanted this.

Slowly, he inhaled air through his nose, and then exhaled through his mouth, white hair falling on his forehead, hiding his eye.

_Just. Calm. Be calm.  Everything is alright. Everything would be alright. _

Then why - his  hands clenched harder, the   knuckles whitening under the fragile skin – was he having that infuriating urge to chuck at the  demon some very sharp and pointy things, or better yet -  to  perforate his gut  via some good old bullets?

A small growl unfurled itself from his throat.

Oh, he would get him back.  Antares smiled unpleasantly.  He would, even if that was the last thing he would do.

A knock interrupted his musings on revenge on a certain spider.

“Master?”

Michaelis’ cultured voice inquired politely.

Closing his eye, Antares’ shoulders slumped in defeated exasperation.

_Not another one._

Whoever said that having two was better than having one, was one big fat liar.

* * *

 

Usually, the _kuroshitsuji_ wasn’t so concerned, but the contract link  between him and his master was  practically seething  with the master’s anger, and  even if usually he would happily greet any kind of emotion from Antares, the  burning in the pit of his stomach didn’t  foretell anything good, and there was no hair or hide  of Faustus anywhere, despite of the  fact that  Antares should have been guarded at all times.

He had put the groceries in their designated places and immediately went to the Master’s room, only to discover Master was in the bathroom.  And while the location supplied him with all kinds of interesting images, the reality of his Master furiously gargling his mouth was both concerning and amusing.

But he had to be a good butler, so…

Gently, he knocked on the wood and called out.

“Master? Are you alright?”

A small growl.

“No, I am _NOT_ alright!” Antares screamed back, making Sebastian’s eyebrows quirk up.

Oh, wow he was pissed.

“May I come in?” He politely inquired.  Now he was curious.

A shuffle.

“You may.” A grumpy reply made him smile and open the door gently.

He saw his Master standing beside the sink, clutching its edges so hard that the knuckled on his hands whitened with the pressure, and his hair was messier than before.

Sebastian exhaled an inaudible sigh.  So he was alright.

He didn’t know what to expect,  but  since Lady Carruthers’  death, the boy had closed himself off to the world, living only for  revenge. Sistina had  recovered much of the lad’s  soul, helping him through the rough patches, but in the end, her illness was too hard on her and  she had to succumb to death, leaving everything to her  beloved son.  While Antares had been training before,  after her death,  the  boy – no, young man - had been training  as if he were possessed by  mythical Furies, and the two demons had hard time convincing him to take some time to rest and recuperate. Sometimes, Sebastian wished sourly - he just wished that his Master didn’t have such an absurdly high pain threshold.  They had been forced to use every dirty trick in the book - from acupressure, to sleeping powder in his food or drink and outright hauling him out of the shooting lounge, and these three were just some of them.

Their Master may have been weak in body, but in his mind, he was the strongest person Sebastian had the dubious honor to know.  However, that still didn’t mean that his psyche wasn’t brittle, prone to shatter, be that sooner or later.

Because Antares just didn’t _do_ the positive emotions. Amusement, yes, but genuine happiness or contentment was flat out of his range.  Anger, yes, that he could  do -  that cold, controlled icy fury, but today,  Sebastian witnessed his Master explode in unintentional burst of anger  and… he liked it. Because being so controlled all the time was just unnatural.

However, he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the cause of that anger much.

“How was the meeting, Master?” He asked softly, seeing the slender shoulders relax minutely.

“Went well. “ Antares grunted out softly. “She offered me practically everything just to make her my fiancé. “ Sebastian tensed.  “Did you accept?” He asked, his voice low, soothing, as if he was talking to the wild animal.

The youth straightened out, his hold on the sink relaxing. “No.  However, I may have to. Carruthers are a lynchpin of the Gray Alliance, and it would be a good foothold into starting it again.”

Mocha brown eyes narrowed.  Even if he knew that, the _kuroshitsuji_ wasn’t willing to accept it for a fact, nor did he want to contemplate the scenario in which his young Master would rely on anyone else but them.

“Ah. I see.  But if the meeting went well, what did anger you then?” He asked politely.  Of course, he could just as easily tease the young master, but he refrained from it… for now.

“That bastard kissed me!” Antares spat out, seething.

Sebastian Michaelis froze.

_‘That bastard kissed me!’_

There was only one bastard that was insane enough to dare to kiss a protégé under his wing, and that was his eternal rival.

 _Claude_ fucking _Faustus._

He _kissed_ Antares.

“Shall I kill him?” His voice was nothing more than an animalistic growl, and he was faintly aware of the color of his eyes changing into fuchsia colored one, glowing in the soft light.

“As much as I want you to…no.” Sebastian suppressed a whine at his Master’s order.  However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t prank the spider.

“Understood.” He purred out as he closed in on his master, gently grabbing his shoulders and massaging them.

The tension slowly bleeding out of him, Antares sighed as he leaned back against his butler’s body, his fingers still not letting go of the sink.

“The thing is, I don’t understand.  Why?” He whispered out, his voice caressing Sebastian’s senses like cat’s tongue. Warm, raspy and soft, it tickled against his ears.

“He always was a possessive one, Master.” Sebastian’s voice rumbled out of his throat as the black butler reminisced at his adventures with Ciel and the annoying spider.

“But he doesn’t have any reason to be jealous, does he?” The youth relaxed against him even further, almost snuggling in him, and slowly, Sebastian stopped his shoulder massage. He wrapped one hand around the youth’s slender waist, and other under his sternum, wrapping him into a protective cocoon of warmth.

“He does.” Sebastian murmured as he inhaled that sharp-sooty scent even deeper in his lungs. “It’s a fact - demons are possessive beings, and with you having the contract with him, he doesn’t tolerate the infringers well.”

 _‘And neither do I.’_ He added in his mind, but held his mouth shut.

“Still, that doesn’t give him right to just up and kiss me just because.”  Antares muttered sulkily, huffing out in aggravation.

“Master _…You_ contracted _us_. We are the ones who are responsible for executing your wish. And with you inviting in the third party, we are not exactly happy with you.” Sebastian’s gentle voice cooled down, making the teen in his arms stiffen.

“And you thinking to betroth yourself to this bitch doesn’t help the matters. “  Antares was spun around, yelping slightly as he had to let go of the sink.   He found himself face to face with the demon, the silky soft black hair barely brushing his cheeks as those exotically colored eyes stared into his own mesmerized orb.

“Also, you are forgetting something.  Despite being butlers, we are demons first. And demons don’t ask.”  Sebastian breathed in his face, the warm air tickling his mouth.

“They _take_.”

With that said, Antares was bestowed with the second kiss in this day.

* * *

 

It was unlike Claude’s -  it was soft like snake’s skin and equally as sneaky,  lulling him into  false security  and then taking, taking  _taking_ ,  that  slick,  warmer-than-his  tongue dancing in his mouth, coaxing his own to play.

After a minute – two?- they separated, and Antares  watched dazedly into those bright, fuchsia-colored orbs like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, not knowing it was about to  become  a prey.

Sebastian’s breath puffed in small, measured breath on his lips, while the white-haired youth was panting with effort, his jaw slack with surprised pleasure and trepidation.  “Y – you, what?” he managed to get out, his  single  green eye’s  cold surface  cracked  with a hint of  bewilderment that made him  look strangely vulnerable.

“Remember that, Master.” Sebastian purred into his ear, making him twitch slightly - and the next moment, the black butler vanished, leaving behind no evidence he had ever been here.

Now thoroughly confused, Antares slowly sank on his knees, his body still trembling with the sensations -  half fear and half exultation, like fire and ice  dancing a wild dance through his veins, his heart hammering against his ribcage, as if begging to be let out -  to go after Michaelis or to flee away  to somewhere safe, even Antares himself wasn’t sure.

“Damn it. What was that?”  He asked himself,   and feeling dreadfully sure that his plans had been utterly derailed, no matter how much he was trying to convince himself otherwise.

* * *

 

Sebastian’s catty smile was even more smug, if that was even possible - he managed to surprise his Young Master, and to top of it all, Antares didn’t spurn his advances like he had Faustus’.  So, it could be counted as a good work. And   as for that Khan chit… He licked his lips, savoring his Master’s taste for a little longer.

Well, accidents _happen,_ don’t they?

Humming cheerfully, he went about preparing the dinner, mentally reminding himself to make Faustus’ portion extra spicy. After all, all was fair in love and war, and Sebastian definitely didn’t intend to play nice with the little spider.

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Claude stiffened as he felt a shiver of dread slide up his spine - and not any ordinary shiver, but the _‘oh, no, I am on Michaelis’ shit list’_ kind of shiver. Both of the demons had been crossing each other’s plans for long enough to develop that kind of  alarm systems within themselves, and now, being bound to the same Master, the previous annoyance became even more prominent.

 _Damn that feathery bastard._ Claude knew he shouldn’t have kissed his Master, but he just couldn’t resist, and snatching a smooch before _Sebas-chan_ did, was one-of-a kind victory. The eagle-eyed butler furrowed his eyebrows.   Even if it was a victory, it was strange… he never found his previous Masters interesting, and then, this little fly came along, bringing with itself a whole new lot of problems – the most annoying one was that Michaelis bastard.  If he had known what would have cost him, Claude never would have made a mistake of snatching the _kuroshitsuji_ ’s prey, no matter how enticing soul he had. Truly, Little Earl was a fascinating creature, and Claude -  not that he would admit to anyone -  had pouted for a year, when he found out that Sebastian had such scrumptious meal, but Antares was all that.. and more.

And yet…

“Mister Faustus?” A girl’s voice interrupted his musings, and he looked down on the fidgeting redheaded girl who was blushing rather badly.  “A-Are you alright?”  She squeaked out, and then  flushed even more.

“I am well, Miss Weasley. You don’t need to concern yourself with my wellbeing.”  He answered gallantly, while his thoughts were _‘Actually, don’t concern yourself  with me. Ever.’_

“But… you looked kind of pale.”  The girl enquired once more as she lifted her hand as if to touch him, but she stopped at the last moment.  She was clothed in knee-length dark blue skirt that flared a little, with dove gray turtleneck that enhanced the coppery highlights of her hair which were bound in twin  slightly curly ponytails.  It made her seem pale in an ethereal way, like some kind of a humanized pixie. The effect was even enhanced by a small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

“I assure you, I am feeling well.”  Claude reiterated.  _‘Just not in your presence.’_ Oh how he wished to do away with her, but his Master expressively forbid him to harm her. Not even if she was a part of reason he was in such a state now – and Claude was still undecided whether to thank the chit or just outright torture her for being so stupid - but well, people  were stupid in comparison with demons, the short-lived species they were. Of course, there were notable exceptions, but still…

“Oh… um, okay.  Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?”  The girl asked, making Claude suppress a twitch of annoyance. He began to sympathize with Michaelis…. And wasn’t that a horrid thought.

“I am afraid not, Miss.  I am but a butler - “ ‘- _What a relief ‘–_ “-and I couldn’t and cannot impose on yourself like so.” He replied stiltedly, even if he wanted to flat out throttle her or at least bite her - but that would have been a waste of good venom.

The girl blushed, and then huffed, crossing her arms under her small bust in an effort to look cute as she pouted.

“Oh, come on!” She exclaimed, her voice exasperated.  “Antares wouldn’t kill you if you join me for a cup of tea!”

 _‘But I might.’_  Claude thought to the girl darkly, as he allowed his eyes darken with irritation, making the girl squeak at the change of his face.  “You don’t know what my Master would or wouldn’t do, so kindly cease your baseless assumptions.” He spoke to her coldly, making her step away, her eyes large with hint of fear and… was that a tiny bit of lust in that girl-child’s eyes?

Seriously, if Claude hadn’t been a demon, he would have cried unmanly tears right now _. ‘She is the unknown love-child of Trancy and that Grell character!’_ His mind screeched at him in horrified revelation, and at that time, all Claude wanted, was to curl up somewhere in a dark corner and  whimper and probably die - well, not _die_ , but he certainly didn’t  want to  indulge the impossibility that was one Ginny Weasley. He had seen Grell often enough to know his obsession with Michaelis - who in the supernatural world didn’t – and much to his eternal shame, he had been still ribbed over Alois’ attempts to have him in his bed, the bad, spoiled meal he was, and if he had known the indigestion pains the fake Trancy lord would have caused him, Claude would’ve dropped the blonde annoyance like hot potato, no ifs, ands or buts.  Alas, he hadn’t known, so  he had been forced through the digestive pains  through several centuries,  mood swings – another joke among  demons was, that certain _kumoshitsuji_ had _‘those days’_ , like girls, but any who dared to utter that joke, had better pray the subject of it wouldn’t find him and garrote them in their sleep.

He gave her a curt nod. “Now, excuse me, I have duties to do.” With a small bow at her, he turned around and purposefully fled -  no, _strode,_ because  demon like Claude didn’t flee from ordinary mortals, no matter that they  were  an unholy abomination of the traits of two worst persons Claude had the misfortune to ever know, out of the room, leaving the dejected, love-struck girl look at his  back.

Besides, he still owed one damned mutt for forcing him of all people to room with the Michaelis.

Smiling a dark smile, the golden eyes glinted with a fuchsia glow, before he vanished into shadows.

Antares sighed. While the dinner was good - delicious in fact, and he enjoyed torturing Ron with eating the scrumptious dishes in front of him, denying him the fare - after all, why should he contribute when they were the ones that for some reason needed him - today’s round of baiting the gluttonous redhead lost its appeal because of a  certain pair of butlers.

Faustus. And then Michaelis. Antares didn’t think that kissing was in the butlers’ repertoire, because that was just unprofessional, and the demon butlers were anything but slacking in their duties toward him, so he had been truly taken aback with their behavior.

 _‘Demons don’t ask.  They **take.**_ **’** Michaelis’ voice had been twining through his thoughts ever since the man had stolen his second kiss, and wasn’t that strange, being kissed so very softly, seductively,   his tongue being coaxed into play - 

Antares shook his head, trying to dislodge the recent memories.  Now he understood just why was kissing so addictive, but that still didn’t mean he would allow the two idiots to just smooch him!  If anything, he should have been one to kiss them –

 _‘But you wouldn’t even think of it, would you?_ ’ His sub consciousness mocked him, while something dark snickered gleefully at his feelings of irritation and shame. True, the two demons were gorgeous in their own right, especially with them being ‘humanized’, so to speak, but that still didn’t mean  Antares had to jump them just because. They were his butlers, weapons and eventually his executioners, and that was that. No need to entangle himself with any deeper relationships than professional ones.

Only, the two demons definitely wanted more than something professional.

 _‘You’re playing with **fire** , Master.’_ Antares licked his lips.

Did he?

_‘ **You** contracted **us**. We are the ones who are responsible for executing your wish. And with you inviting in the third party, we are not exactly happy with you.’_

Weren’t they? Green eye blinked with confusion.  But on the long run, it didn’t matter. He would  betroth Zubeida, maybe even marry her, and use the Alliance to his own ends, and then, after all would be over and done with,  he would be their meal.

Simple.

And yet… _not._ Even now, he felt the magic tugging him in, trying to mold him into a lynchpin and  connect the Carruthers  and Khan lines – it was subtle, nothing like _Imperius,_ but still.

Yet the two demons disagreed, wanting nothing to do with the Grey alliance. They were right in a way - going into this kind of political hot pot half-cocked wouldn’t have been good for him, but at the same time…Green eye narrowed in thought.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

He was already chosen as a lynchpin – damn it, the ritual the had done was too thorough in that regard, and adding the demons’ blood  in didn’t help, so it  was only a matter of time he  would be tugged  among the cogs. But on the other hand, he had to contend with two jealous demons whining for his attention, even going so far as to kiss him to distract him from making decision on whether or not to betroth  himself to Zubeida -  really, a betrothal wouldn’t be  any great sacrifice on his side, he didn’t feel anything for the  girl, and he didn’t care about her. He cared about power behind her - he wasn’t a fool. Zubeida may have come alone, acting on her wishes, but something had to prompt her, something bigger and more dangerous. Antares didn’t try to disillusion himself that Zubeida was doing this out of the goodness of her heart -  she was Slytherin first and foremost, and at their core, every human being  was selfish, and in the matters of do or die,  survival always took the higher priority.

“Master?” Faustus voice shook him out of his musings and he blinked distractedly. “Are you feeling well?”  Antares had to refrain him from glaring at the butler.  Instead of it, he settled for frowning.  “ I am feeling well,  Faustus.” He replied back, his voice chilly. He still didn’t forgive the damned  spider  for stealing that kiss, dammit!

“You looked very deep in your thoughts, Mr. Carruthers.”  Dumbledore commented, a grandfatherly twinkle ever-present in his eyes. Antares  looked into those  blue orbs unflinchingly. “It’s good for the soul, Dumbledore.” He replied as he stood up. “Now excuse me, I am going to retire early.” With that said, he ignored the murmurs and stares at his person as he headed for the door,   the two butlers  behind him.

He felt the duo acutely -   there was always some kind of a buzzing feeling when they were near, like a weak undercurrent of electricity. He didn’t know how to describe it otherwise, but he just knew.

It was as if he had been walking through the corridor and up to the stairs alone, with no one to accompany him, so quiet their steps were, the only sound in the place was thudding of his cane against the  floor and  their breathing.

Finally, they were in his room, with him still not turning toward them.

“I am angry at you two.” He spoke out as he clenched the head of his cane. The doors snapped closed  with an ominous sound.

“As I am with you.” Faustus’ voice was a little bit deeper and a shard more emotional than his usual stone-cold dulcet tones.  “We were here first.” The ‘ _we_ ’ he spoke as if physically pained him to admit  he had to share with black butler.

“It’s not your place to be angry!” Antares hissed out. “We need allies and if I can gain them with betrothing myself to that Khan girl, all the better. When you two signed up, you knew I was doing that for revenge.  So why do you two balk at my methods now?”   He snapped at them, slamming the butt of the cane against the floor, the sound sharp in the dimmed room.

“You’re right.”  Michaelis’ usually jovial voice was serious, making Claude hiss at him with shock. Dark brown eyes glared into golden ones warningly, making the blue butler settle down… for the moment.  “However that still doesn’t meant that we have to agree with the way you are handling things.While the Gray Alliance sounds interesting, I am more opposed on us having to share you with Ms. Khan.”

“Why?” Antares turned around, as he untied the eye patch, exposing the other eye and the gleaming contract within. It was a sinister sight, yet one that made the two butler’s spine tingle with thrill. “In the end, you still get whatever you want - I won’t try and escape the contract.”

“My, so quick to promise.”  Michaelis hummed, a spark of playfulness entering his eyes.  “But what if we want more?”

Green eyes narrowed calculatingly; however, both of the butlers saw a flash of apprehension zing through those unique viridian orbs, before the young man was composed again. “We already made a bargain.”

“To put it simply, Young Master, you owe us for this little surprise.”  Michaelis continued, undaunted by the glare that zeroed on him. “ _Owe_ you?”  Antares asked, incredulous. “Are you seriously trying to blackmail me, Michaelis?”

“Demons don’t _try_ , Master,” Claude scoffed, his glasses gleaming in the weak light ominously as he pushed them up on his nose. “We _do_.”

 _‘Demons don’t ask. They **take**.’_ Antares had to suppress a shudder at the memory.

“If we go by that logic,” Antares finally spoke out, “you already exerted your … ah, _payment,_ via kissing me.” He tilted his head slightly, a mocking smirk appearing on his lips at the demons’ miffed expressions.

“That was because of Miss Khan, Master.”  Antares had to admire how sat Michaelis regained his proverbial footing, but his heart speed up in anticipation of the demon’s next move.

“You still owe us for that gray Alliance bullshit – “ Faustus continued, not heeding Antares’ glare by the slightest -

“-Is no bullshit, I am feeling the lynchpin magic trying to assert itself already – “Antares ‘ mumble was disregarded,

“ – and so, _Master,_ because we are so very _concerned_ about you, we will monitor you through the night.” Faustus finished, golden eyes narrowing dangerously at his prey, when both of them advanced, making Antares step back in trying to avoid them.

“You _what_?” Antares wasn’t sure if he heard right.  Under all those fancy words, the subtext  – ‘ _We will  move in your room, and you will appreciate our care’_ -  couldn’t be louder if  they used a Banshee to scream it out from the rooftops.  That was not the first time they tried to pull something like this, but until now, Antares’ room was his room, and the two butlers had to contend with the room of the deceased Lady Black, which they hated with the passion of thousand suns, if only because they had to share it with each other. (Not to mention the décor was truly disgusting, but they digressed.)

But now, no matter how he tried to, he couldn’t find a hole in their demand.

Another step back.

“You heard us, Master.”

Antares swallowed. “But there’s no additional beds.” He tried. Really, he did.  If he could, he would have bolted out of the room like scared rabbit from two wolves, but alas, they were slowly and surely boxing him in. “Besides, you two are servants and as such it would be improper for you to lie in the same bed than me.”

“Your concern is _touching_ , really,” Sebastian purred back, “but you just can’t sleep without something warm and soft beside you.”

Antares paled, then flushed. “You _two_.” He growled.  “ _Will_ sleep on the floor.  This is not negotiable.” The contract in his eye glowed with the purple light, making both Michaelis and Faustus gasp at the command.  “Am I understood?” He demanded as he jutted his chin up as to glare in those fuchsia-colored orbs better.

“ _Crystal,_ Master.” Faustus ground out as the two demons bowed, keeping the position until Antares  went past them and into the bathroom,  slamming the door behind him.

Then, the butlers straightened out.   Faustus glared at the _kumoshitsuji._

“You just had to piss him off, didn’t you?” He growled at the fellow demon.

Michaelis’ catty smile was a little too bright.  “I only said the truth. If he can’t stand it, then too bad.”

What went unsaid was, that neither of them had any intention to sleep on the floor.

But that was a battle better saved for another occasion.  For now, both of them gained a foothold into Antares’ territory and they were bound and determined not only to hold onto that little part of it, but also to ever so slowly and slyly, expand it, and leaving no corner for one Miss Khan to claim.

Because they were here first.

 


	17. Never Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Harry Potter or Kuroshitsuji - they belong to their respective owners. I only own this little idea and the story herein.
> 
> Shout Out: Happy Valentine's Day, y'all. Don't have chocolates for you, but I hope this will suffice /exhausted/. This chapter had undergone five rewrites total to get done, and I am grateful to Paxloria who gracefully took up the task of straightening both the story and it's grammar with gusto. Because of her efforts, the story is now better than it was at the beginning. Next one of the menu is Among The Hawks and Doves and one special little project I recently pulled out and intend to dust off again.
> 
> You've probably heard about the latest scandal with our works and author being solicited to the mirror sites without the knowledge of either authors in question or the administrators of the FF site. I am irked as this has happened - even with my stories - without my say-so, because I post exclusively on FF and AO3 sites. But someone had made a program that copies our profiles and posted stories from FF on mirror sites and earning money out of our hard work. And that is what I don't condone. We, as authors, put our time, tears, sweat and blood in our stories time and time again to entertain our readers so it's an anathema to me to be faced with such a blatant abuse of our works.
> 
> If there are my works anywhere else on the 'net, then those are NOT posted by me (aside Wattpad, if I will post them on in the future). As of right now, I am still posting here both because of fond memories and because this is my primary account, but if the push comes to shove, I will close down this account and post my stories elsewhere.
> 
> FF authors, I notified Google administrators about the mirror sites - link on my profile page, if you want to do the same for your own works, if you have them.
> 
> Readers, it's your decision, whether or not will you 'use' those mirror sites now that you know about their existence. But doing that also means disrespect to the story you are reading and the effort the author had put in.
> 
> Warnings: Ooh. Let's see. Butlers being naughty little boys, Antares his cranky little self and of course, nighttime shenanigans.

* * *

_Love is a dangerous game to play_

_Hearts are made for breaking and for pain_

_I'm selfish and I'm cold_

_I promise you I said:_

_Never again!_

_Never again!_

_No never!_

_('The Race', by 30 Seconds To Mars)_

* * *

There was a noticeable tension that evening between the Carruthers' Heir and his two butlers - mainly showing as him ignoring the duo, and said demonic duo having uncharacteristically anticipatory expressions on their faces, even if Michaelis was still smiling kindly, just like Faustus who similarly had his default poker face on.

Nobody had dared to ask Antares anything, courtesy of his foul mood. That suited Antares just fine, because he had to deal with the fact that come this night, he would have to share his room with the two demons in question. The white-haired youth sighed, sorely wishing that he would have held his temper back enough to order them to keep themselves confined in their own assigned quarters at night, bar an emergency or two. Instead of that, he had lost his temper and nerves and outright ordered them to sleep on his floor, which in retrospection was a stupid decision. Curse his Gryffindorish tendencies of jumping ahead before checking whether it was safe to jump. Not that there was anything wrong with the floor, but the problem, as he saw it, was that he had unconsciously allowed them into his room and really, he was dreading the consequences that would undoubtedly came with that kind of a foolish decision.

His mood became even worse when listening to the aimless chatter of the people in the kitchen, all of them unaware of the latest trouble he had gotten himself into. They didn't even take the war brewing under the surface seriously, - as if for them, their little gathering in Grimmauld Place was just little more than a creepy dinner time in even creepier house. His green eye glowered at the people stationed around the table silently.

Dumbledore, as always, was sitting at the head of the table, this time clad in puke green and periwinkle blue robes hemmed with some truly psychedelic orange and brown swirls, causing Antares to think of rain puddles and puke, while the old man was aimlessly chatting with McGonagall, who was his usual strict, tartan-clad self. Tonks was entertaining the kids with her metamorphmagus abilities by morphing her nose into those of different animals'. Up until now, she had done a pig's snout, dog's nose, even changed her mouth into a hawk's beak. Right now, she was trying her luck with a horse's muzzle.

Little Gabby was suitably impressed, while Fleur was just staring at the cheerful pink-haired girl, torn between disgust and horror. It was somehow fundamentally wrong to see a human transform their face so easily into the faces of random animals. Mrs. Weasley was bullying everyone with her food, and inserting her opinions into any and all matters discussed at the table, while Mr. Weasley was trying to loop Michaelis into conversation about function of the light bulbs, with the black butler being his usual semi-uncooperative self. Mundungus was belching in his own corner, with Hestia edging away in disgust from the smelly thief, and the twins were conspiring something with the mutt, much to the werewolf's disapproval. The only one who was missing from the ragtag group was Snape, but only because the man had the brains to excuse himself in order to work on some project. Antares envied him, if only because he didn't have any hangers-on to follow him into his room.

 _'_ _And this,'_ Antares noted to himself despondently, _'is the group tasked with the survival of the Wizarding World.'_

Survival? More like destruction. Their little pow-wow one and a half an hour ago was a prime example of this - Snape had reported Voldemort's movements, scrappy as they were, but it was obvious that the Dark Lord managed to get Vampires on his side, thus amassing another batch of allies to his already pretty formidable forces - not that it was hard to do, what with Ministry restricting the blood-drinkers. Mundungus 'Dung' was his usual smelly and slobbery self, not reporting anything useful, aside from some rumors about Savior being spotted among the lower castes of Knockturn Alley and where they predicted him to strike next time - Antares had to hold his snort in at that one, because it was truly an absurd situation, what with the 'Savior' in the room, standing directly behind his chair.

There were also tentative plans to offer this 'Savior' a place in the esteemed Order of the Phoenix, which made him want to laugh hysterically at the inane notion of those hopeless idiots recruiting _his_ butlers, of all people, but he effortlessly suppressed the urge. However, he did toy with the thought of announcing the secret to them, just for the kicks of it, but he dismissed it as fast as it came. While it would have been amusing to see their reactions, it just wasn't worth listening to their whining afterward. The only ones marginally useful were Kingsley and to the lesser degree, Tonks, even if only because they were Aurors and had an access to the greater wealth of information from the Ministry's side of things than anyone else aside from Dumbledore.

Overall, the news were grim. Voldemort was steadily advancing, and with Savior's massacre of Vampires, the hornet nest had been stirred enough that Voldemort was ordering extra raids on the civilians, as to draw out Savior and making an example out of him. Sadly for him, Savior was always three steps ahead of him, but that still didn't help the mounting casualties on the civilian side. People were getting restless and anxious, and there were outcries to the Ministry as to why weren't they doing anything to protect the innocent. Fudge was fudging along like usual, but it seemed that his term was steadily coming to an abrupt end, if the grumblings and whispers in the halls were anything to go by. The next candidate was Rufus Scrimegour, a grizzly old man who had been an Auror before, but was keeping a post as a Head of Auror office these days. Some also preferred Amanda Bones, but the woman herself was curiously mum on the issue. There was also Sigbert Travers, but aside from him belonging to the Travers family and being a staunch supporter of dark side, there was nothing much known about him.

A dull viridian eye slid to a half mast while Antares contemplated the facts and playing with his cup of tea all the while. There was no doubt he would be called in front of the Wizengamot soon - if nothing else, they wanted to manipulate him for their own gain. The only thing wrong with picture was what was taking them so long to send the official invitation?

It could be that Antares was Carruthers' bastard kid. There were always some that opposed to the bastard heir holding prestigious seats in the esteemed body. But with the times being what they were, Antares didn't doubt that this would change soon. The chessboard needed someone to even out the sides, no matter if that someone had a little bit of a dubious reputation hanging on their proverbial coattails, and it seemed that this time; it would be Antares doing the leveraging.

In his previous talks with Antares, however rare they were, Dumbledore had already insinuated several problems and solutions for them, aside from hinting at possible alliance between his faction and House of Carruthers. This entire stay in Grimmauld Place was for the sole goal of getting Antares on the Light's side as it were. Antares was already the Head of Carruthers, even if most of the wizards were under impression of him being an Heir still, and alongside that, he was also an Heir of the Black family, courtesy of one Sirius Orion Black. Because Sirius was still a fugitive, all of the duties of the Black Lordship fell on Antares to fulfill, and with that, he was a Lord by proxy, if not by title. Having two seats under his name, both Noble and one of them Ancient, Antares was already a person of interest, but with him leading the Gray Alliance, his influence would be truly staggering, when the old supporters returned back to his banner.

Like Miss Khan had insinuated in their little chit-chat in Gringotts, the remaking of Alliance was only a matter of time. Not of _if_ , but of _when_. Of course, the old coot wanted to have his fingers in that particular pie too, via Antares' 'help'. Making Antares a papier-mache leader while he would be the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, as he had been wont to do.

Up until now, Antares played an uninterested and disillusioned youth who resented the Order because they didn't bother to save his mother and him from Death Eaters' _kind_ mercies. Much to Antares' surprise, part of his feelings of resentment was true, even if the reasons were completely different than the ones he had spelled out to the group.

The darkness within him snickered.

He was thought to be a boy who didn't know better, even when he had gone through torture heaped upon him. Even with him rebuffing them, they thought him to be easily malleable to the whims of their leader, giving them a false hope that when the time came, he would cooperate with the wily old goat. _Ha._ As if.

He glanced as his side, catching one Ginny Weasley giving soppy looks to Faustus - it always amused Antares to watch awkward redhead to try and attempt to gain Faustus' favor, even if her attempts were always rebuffed. However, right now, he wished that Faustus would indeed switch his attention from Antares to the annoying chit in question, if only because Antares would then have to deal with one less of annoying demon in his bedroom, rather than both of them. Thought the image of Faustus practically using him as his personal shield, ever-so-subtly, made Antares' lips curl in a wry smirk at the _kumoshitsuji_ 's little avoidance tactics.

Who would have thought that the almighty spider demon, which could've broken that slip of a girl like a dry twig, would be pressed to use a human shield just to avoid her advances? Antares was tempted to order Faustus to cease wearing his glasses if only to get his butler some peace from the girl - he had overheard Ginny gushing about Faustus being so cool with the glasses and how they enhanced his beautiful golden eyes - her words, not his - and Faustus didn't really need his glasses, but after that fiasco with Faustus kissing him, Antares decided to have the _kumoshitsuji_ suffer her advances with his glasses in a tow.

A tiny bit of revenge, but still a satisfying one.

However, that didn't detract him from searching the solution to his main problem at the moment- meaning, keeping his room free of the demonic butlers during the night..

Sighing, Antares pinched the bridge of his nose in hopes of staving off the impending headache. Sometimes he really wondered if revenge was good enough reason for putting up with all that bullshit.

* * *

Sebastian Michaelis was as smug as one demon can be. It was all in a day's work - and this was one of his more brilliant schemes, if he said so himself. It may have taken some time to get his cagey Master where he wanted him, but just one stroke of pure dumb luck enabled his person a place in his little Master's bedroom. Of course, it wasn't exactly the place he wanted to be in _yet_ , but all good things come to the one who waits. And if anything, Sebastian was one very patient demon. The only thing that darkened his little spot of triumph was that the spider butler also rode on the coattails of his success, but Sebastian would just have to ensure the itty bitty spider wouldn't get a chance to get closer to his prey.

He glanced at his little Master once again. Antares was being his usual grumpy self, but this evening, his surliness was growing exponentially the closer the time for bed approached. Sebastian had no doubts that Antares would have loved to kick them out of his room, but his sense of honor didn't allow him to do so, which amused the black butler something fierce.

Six months spent on teaching one Antares Carruthers on being as sneaky, cruel and underhanded as possible, and the kid folded at the first mention of him liking to sleep with something warm and soft. It was probably unfair of Sebastian to needle Antares' evident weak point like this - he knew, only too well, the nightmares his little Master had at night, and that he could only sleep semi-well with a living human being at his side. As if the heartbeats near his ear was the only thing to keep him sane.

He sobered at the thought. It was true in a sense. Before she died, Sistina was the one to keep Antares at peace when the night fell, but after her death, the nightmares and memories returned with a vengeance. He was thankful for the Order of Phoenix to come in when they did, because Antares had been, but surely slipping down the slippery slope of the insanity.

Still, the nightmares persisted, having been made even worse with Antares meeting the Order and being placed into that dilapidated building that had barely any right to be called a house, much less a manor. Sebastian's mouth curled down with disgust. Miss Khan's little missive didn't help either.

Logically, Sebastian knew that the best course of action was the one Antares was currently on – forming the Alliance again, even if it did require a betrothal to one Miss Khan to solidify the base. However, this little clause was also the one that didn't really agree with Sebastian and Faustus.

Up until now, they were used to their masters relying exclusively at them. Ciel was one of the rare exceptions that combined Sebastian's … shall we say, _unique_ talents with the cold, hard pragmatism of forging the alliances with his peers in power or influence. Of course, Sebastian didn't mind, as he still remained little Phantomhive's closest confidant, advisor and finally executor of the boy's enemies.

He had thought he would've been the same with this little fly of Faustus' - if nothing else, it would piss off the blue butler something fierce, and Sebastian was always up for a game of baiting the little spider in question. And Faustus still owed him for snatching his _Bocchan_ away from him.

The game had changed one single evening when he had tasted his new Master's blood.

 _'_ _Mine.'_ Only a single word, but it encompassed everything.

This single drop of blood leashed one Sebastian Michaelis to the little green-eyed mortal stronger than any chain on heaven or earth had any right to. And the bond in question only became stronger, deeper and more obsessive in the following days.

A suck here, and a lick there - it was stupidly easy, what with his little master being as insensate to the world as he had been, trapped deep within his sub-consciousness, waiting on his body and mind to heal enough for him to be ready to confront the reality once again.

This little habit of theirs persisted even after Antares was well enough on his feet. The two demonic butlers had taken their fill while changing the bandages, and every time, they were confronted with an unimpressed green eye glancing at the current culprit out of the two of them before Antares returned back to what he had been doing before the butlers snatched a 'snack' on their own.

It both irked and amused Sebastian, because not even Ciel, unflappable little lord he was, could dismiss them so effectively, not even using the orders to make them give in and leave him alone. And what was more...

The crow demon licked his lips as he stared at his master shrugging off his robe, exposing a deep gray cashmere pullover and black trousers clinging to his legs.

"Let me help you, Master," his voice purred out, deep and rough.

Antares turned his head and glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "I can get it done _alone_ , Michaelis." His voice was frigid, causing Sebastian to shiver almost unnoticeably with its biting tone, before his head swiveled back, once again, concentrating on his task.

 _'_ _Ooh. Like a small, rebellious kitten.'_ Sebastian wanted to coo at his Master's adorableness, but he knew if he had done that, there would have been no ifs, ands or buts - he would be booted out of Antares' room faster than he could say _'snack.'_

Slowly, Antares lifted his arms, hissing with pain as the movement progressed, and Sebastian's pupils diluted with anticipation. He barely acknowledged Faustus' return from the bathroom and his announcement that Antares' bath was ready.

Instead, his slowly reddening orbs were glued to the youth's progressive peeling off of pullover. The soft grey cloth slid over Antares' head slowly as if teasing the crow demon's self-control, and Sebastian swallowed heavily. It was a torture, having to stand in the corner and watching his little tease of a Master discarding his clothes inch by inch.

Finally, the pullover was off, and the demon's heartbeat quickened at the sight of dark blue button-up shirt underneath.

Should such a simple article of cloth even have the right to look so alluring like it did now?

"Master…" Distantly, he heard Claude breath out, more of an exhale of air than an actual sound. And then, the button on the trousers popped open.

* * *

Antares ignored the two demonic voyeurs in the corner of his room with the ease of a long practice.

At first, it was uncomfortable, being under such an intense scrutiny, but his stubbornness helped him to disregard them like he had particularly annoying busy-bodies in the Wizarding World. It had been an ongoing battle between him and his two butlers at first - they insisted on helping him to robe and disrobe himself and at first, he allowed them to do so because his body was too weak to really don the garments on by his own power. But when he had recovered enough, he firmly put his foot down and told the duo in no uncertain terms that the task of taking care of himself would be his and his only.

Their dismayed faces that day were one of the highlights in Antares' memory that was only soured by him conceding the two butlers to watch him do the task, under the pretense of catching him if he felt dizzy or something similar.

Antares scowled. They would _never_ forget about that little fainting episode when he first tried to cloth himself, would they? Huffing with irritation, he pulled the zip down and bent down, to touch the edge of his bed for better stability. He took a moment to toe his shoes off and prod them under his bed before he concentrated on getting the trousers off once again.

Twin sharp intakes of breath behind his back made him reflexively bristle, but he concentrated on shuffling the trousers down his hips and legs, letting the dark fabric fall on the floor.

He shivered despite the lit fireplace, denoting the fact that there was still not enough heat in the room to suit him. Antares doubted there ever would be. He duly noted that this cold, deep chill he felt constantly permeate his body - even when he rationally knew a room was at the right temperature for him to chuck away his clothes – had more to do with the memories of events in his past than the temperature in present.

Thin finger then slid up the silky fabric to the button at his throat and Antares began the onerous task of unbuttoning the hellish contraption. Furrowing his eyebrows, he concentrated on the grasping at the button. It was truly aggravating - he could shoot with the best of them, yet ironically enough, those measly little buttons were the winners of the dispute more often than not. Gritting his teeth, he narrowed his eye at the tiny menaces, swearing under his breath.

* * *

Golden eyes turning into shades of purple narrowed when he watched the little mortal attacking the little hellions in the guise of buttons. The scene shouldn't have been as alluring as it looked. Antares was just standing turned to his bed, with his legs bare and his back and buttocks covered by the expanse of a dark blue shirt made of silk and his mop of white hair was being cast in warm hues of orange from the fire in the nearby fireplace, a study in light and dark.

The idyllic image was almost enough to make Claude smile - almost, being a key word - if the entire scene hadn't been completely, utterly and ridiculously sensual to the possessive demon in question. The white bandages wrapped around the teen's slim tights should have detracted from the sensuality, but somehow – Claude's golden eyes were now completely glowing purple with desire at this point – it enhanced it even more.

The _kumoshitsuji_ 's fingers twitched with the urge to get rid of the buttons himself, but he held back. Instead, his lips parted, and a dexterous tongue slowly licked them, as if anticipating the succulent juice that was Antares' blood most eagerly.

Finally, the last of the buttons yielded to Antares's stubborn efforts, and with a quiet exclamation of triumph, the shirt was opened and slid down his thin shoulders onto the ground, leaving the youth clad only in silky black boxers and swathes of bandages looping around his torso and arms.

Previously white strips of fabric were dotted with red and pink here and there, likening, to the mind of the watching demon, to the poppies blooming in the snow.

Even if he lived million years after this, Claude Faustus swore he would never forget this sight.

Not that he could - it was engraved in his brain with all the precision of a miniature painting crafted by one of the greatest masters.

"Master, your bath is ready." Michaelis' voice was raw, just shy of growling at their prey, but Claude could only nod in assent.

* * *

The bath went just about as well as Antares could expect it to. He resigned himself to the butlers tending to him - in fact, he suspected they were doing his bandages in an overly complicated pattern just so they could have an excuse of unwrapping them off of his person later. And with that came their _'snack time',_ as he semi-jokingly called their little obsession with his blood.

It would have been creepy to anyone watching, the two demons behaving like fledgling vampires, licking and suckling at the places where the blood was being let out like two fledgling vampires. Much to Antares' dismay, he had many of such places all over his body, some even close to intimate areas. So he resigned himself to being treated like a human-sized blood lollipop for his two butlers that took up the task of bathing their master with all due enthusiasm. Idly, and not for the first time, he wondered if that was how the lion cubs felt like, being cleaned by their own mum. He stoically chose to ignore his butlers' accelerating breathing; held-back grunts and an occasional mewl, though he did suspect that this _'snack time'_ of theirs was more than just that.

After almost an hour (and with feeling akin to relief), he was finally let out of the bath, squeaky clean and his wounds dressed in a fresh swathe of bandages. Antares knew that he would never be completely healthy – some of the curses acted similarly to a butterfly disease, causing the wounds to stay open at all times.

Finally, it was time for him to go to the bed. Antares tried to stay awake, but it seemed that the happenings of this particular day had finally caught up with him. Allowing the two butlers to help him into thickly woven silk pajamas, he slowly padded to his four poster bed and snuggled between the warmed up covers. Closing his eyes, he was out like a light.

* * *

The two butlers looked at their sleeping charge fondly. When resting, Antares Carruthers could be likened to an innocent child and not the war-torn, revenge-minded youth they were used to. Slowly, Claude bent down and gently untied the eye-patch from the teen's head; his previously purple eyes slowly bleeding back into their usual golden hue.

"What a day." Sebastian sighed as he tilted his head, his now again mocha orbs flickering with warmth as he looked at his sleeping charge.

"Indeed." Claude's voice was a low, smooth timbre, still a little breathy from little exercise of suppressing his moans when he consumed Antares' blood. He shifted uncomfortably. Once again, he had made a mess in his pants, even when he swore to himself that such a disgraceful happening would never, ever made a repeated occurrence. The only consolation was that the crow demon beside him was in the same position as him. He couldn't bring himself to regret it, however, because the sensations he experienced while sampling his prey's blood were… _exceptional._

"So… Where would we sleep?" Sebastian's eyebrow quirked teasingly at their newest crux of the matter, causing Claude to send him a warning glare.

" _Not_ in Master's bed, that's a given." Claude bit out, his previously good mood dipping into peeved waters. While it was a small victory they were allowed in Antares' room, it was soured by the fact their Master ordered them to sleep on the floor of all places.

Talk about being cruel!

The _kuroshitsuji_ shrugged, unconcerned with the situation. "Well. But nobody said that we can't _move_ him from his bed…" A mischievous smirk widened his lips at Claude's honestly taken-aback face with widened gold eyes.

The spider butler shook his head. "And if he wakes up?" He inquired, but Sebastian could see that Faustus was slowly coming to like the plan.

Mocha-colored eyes glinted. "Who says he would?" He inquired mildly.

This time, Claude's jaw honestly dropped with amazement. "You _drugged_ him!?" He squawked, quickly looking at the bed only to seen Antares snuggle deeper into the covers, thankfully unbothered by his elevated voice.

"Yeah, so?" Sebastian's catty smile once again made an appearance, causing Faustus to scowl. _'Out of all the insane things - !'_ Claude thought, exasperated. _'But that is just what I should've expected from that crow bastard.'_ He admitted to himself grudgingly.

He didn't have any doubt that if Antares found out about this little circumvention of rules, there would be hell to pay.

Golden eyes looked at the sole occupant of the bed once again.

Did they care?

The butlers looked at each other and nodded, for once in an agreement on how to proceed.

Nope. Not a whit.

* * *

Mudungus 'Dung' Fletcher was a connoisseur of valuable things. He also fancied himself to have a great eye for them, and since he had been drafted into Order, there was no wonder that he managed to acquire one or another of the valuables for his customers' perusal.

It wasn't anything big. A little bit of silver - and golden ware here and there, there were some gems loose if someone knew where and how to look, and Dung definitely did, with less valuable of Black tomes that weren't keyed to the Black Library. Sadly, the tomes in question were a rare opportunity, and try as he might, Sirius Black was still paranoid enough son of a gun to hoard the master access to the den of darkness, known as infamous Black Library, only to himself.

So Dung was forced to ferret out the jewelry. There were some good finds in the shape of Walburga's black pearl and garnet necklace, a set of brooches made from obsidian with blue and gold tiger eye. There was also a little treasure of a golden necklace with tiny roses made from fire opals.

But tonight, the smelly thief had something far grander in his sights.

A certain ring.

Made from sliver, with an emerald cut, deep blue stone inlaid in the metal… and currently on the hand of one certain Carruthers' Heir. It was a work of art, and undoubtedly worth much, though Dung did wonder why no one, aside from him seemed to notice it.

 _Bah._ Their loss, his gain. Mundugnus snorted as he shuffled toward the room where Antares lad resided.

Quietly, he opened the door and peeked in.

He had been incredibly lucky to acquire a _Hand of Glory,_ the Holy Grail of the thieves everywhere. The _Hand_ of question was actually a dried and pickled hand of a hanged criminal, and additionally preserved via the grease made from the self-same criminal's body fat. If anyone would have seen the hand in the daylight, this would have been a worthless piece of a human's body, carefully preserved for someone's amusement. However, the _Hand_ 's true worth came out at night. Whoever owned the _Hand_ could use it as a source of light, visible only to them, the eerie glow coming from the ends of the _Hand_ 's digits like some kind of pale grey, wispy flames. The light had another property, shielding the _Hand_ 's master away from any kind of detection, thus perpetrating the myth that only the _Hand'_ s owner could be awake where everyone else was in deep sleep. Sadly for thieves, and luckily for general population, a genuine _Hand of Glory_ was incredibly rare to come by, mostly because the enchantments on how to make it were lost to mists of time. Dung himself had come by the artifact by pure dumb luck one freezing winter night when he was playing cards with some hag.

Cutting his little memory trip short, Dung concentrated on the present. The pale grey light from the hands' fingertips the heir's sleeping body swathed in the sheets of the bed, likening it to a scene from olden white and black movies. Old, yet still sharp ears caught the slow rhythm of inhale and exhale and a small shuffle of the sheets.

Dung raised the _Hand_ in his hand a little bit higher.

Inwardly, he grimaced. It would be a bitch and a half to get the lad's ring off of his finger, but with some persuasion, nothing was impossible for Dung, the craftiest dealer of the Knockturn Alley.

Quietly, he crept forward, being cautions not to step too hard. Better be safe than sorry, after all.

There was a small glint, and thief's dull eyes widened with greed.

_'_ _There!'_

He forcibly calmed the thundering of his heart down with an ease of a long practice, and then, slowly reached to the pristine sheets to unwrap his prize –

The sheets under his fingers were surprisingly cool and... puffy, making Dung furrow his forehead with confusion and dread.

_'_ _What - ?'_

A scant second later, his wrist was being crushed in an extremely strong grip causing him to lose his grip on the _Hand_ , drowning the room in an unforgiving darkness. A pair of demonic purple eyes looking into his own, agony-filled ones.

The attack was so sudden that Dung didn't even have time to scream, and then, the pain was too much for him to even scream.

And even if he could, there was an equally vice-like grasp around his throat from a person behind his back.

"I didn't think we were so in demand as to entertain midnight visitors now." A smooth voice breathed near his right ear, causing him to attempt to jerk away from his captor and then get the hell away from those hellish eyes!

A sound gargled in his voice box, half of an apology and half a plea for his life.

"Are we sure he didn't just mistake this room for his?" Another voice susurrated through the air of the room, and Dung sweated profusely.

He was here, trapped like a rat and with on escape in sight.

 _"_ _This_ room?" The first voice scoffed, causing Dung to whimper as he was now eye to eyes with a second demonic pair of eyes. "You're joking. Besides, you know just as well that this particular night visitor intended to rob our Master of his ring. "

_'_ _M-Master?'_

Dung's blood turned ice cold.

Oh dammit, his luck couldn't have been so bad, could it?

Out all of the night to try stealing that Merlin-forsaken ring off the brat's hand it _had_ to be the one when his servants were guarding him!? Dung swallowed frantically as he tried to shuffle away from Carruthers' butlers. This was not how it was supposed to go - it was to be a fairly easy robbery, what with the lad being out like light, his butlers at the other end of the house, and Dung having the _Hand_ of Glory for additional light and assistance.

Belatedly, he felt warmth pooling in his undies and a very well-known, sickly-sweet scent wafted up his nose.

The stink of fresh piss and shit.

A disgusted scoff later, Dung felt a sharp pain in his neck and then…nothing.

* * *

In the cellar, Sebastian glared at the culprit he had recently knocked out. It was just as well that they decided to camp with Antares, because otherwise, this sniveling sack of shit and piss would of gone with the ring he had given to Antares three months before.

The ring alone was fairly simple – a silver band, with emerald cut blue diamond as the centerpiece. It's worth alone was not exactly negligible, what with a size of the jewel alone, but what made it even more priceless, was that it was a heirloom of the Phantomhive family.

When the last Phantomhive head of house vanished, leaving after only his bereaved fiancé, the ring also went missing. Nobody had found it, despite the greatest efforts expended on the human's side.

As matters stood, it became the trinket of a certain demonic ex-butler of a Phantomhive household. For Sebastian, the ring held many fond memories of Ciel's tantrums, snarky attitude and all-around faults that made him such a succulent meal at the end of his short life.

Him giving it away to Antares was, at first, just the whimsical action of a bored demon playing around with his prey. Antares had resisted owning the stupid rock, so Sebastian's victory on that apparent issue was all the sweeter. It did help that the ring, in a sense, was Sebastian's, and going by mortal's customs of ring -giving, then Antares, by means of accepting the ring, however unwillingly, became his.

A visual statement of ownership, as it were.

It was also a subtle nose-thumbing to a certain spider. He didn't have any doubt that Faustus had recognized this particular piece of jewelry, but aside from narrowing his eyes and tightening his lips, Faustus hadn't done anything else.

But if he knew the little bastard - and Sebastian prided himself on knowing his arachnid nemesis very much – then there would be another battle on the ring-wearing commencing between Faustus and their little master in the nearby future.

However, he didn't really think that someone would be so dumb as to attempt to steal the ring right off Antares' hand. Sadly, his little theory was proven wrong by that dirty, smelly excuse for a sub-human aptly named for excrement.

"Now, what to do with you, hmm?" He asked the still unconscious man sweetly, causing his body to unconsciously shiver with fear at the demon's malicious tone.

Dung was right to fear the Phantomhive's irate butler. He was costing him a valuable snuggle time with his master, after all.

* * *

Meanwhile, one Claude Faustus was lying on the bedding-covered floor, with a blessedly unconscious Antares snuggling against his chest and causing the stern butler to smile.

The spider butler was clad in a simple white nightgown made of silk that fell gently against the contours of his body in loose waves, the fabric intermingling with the silvery grey of his charge. Claude suppressed a shiver at the feeling of fabric being the only divider between the skin of their bodies. The sensation evoked so many desires and wants, but Claude ruthlessly suppressed them - right not, there wasn't right time or place yet, what with Antares still recuperating himself, both mentally and physically, from the happenings of that particular day. Strong hand grabbed the edge of the comforter and drew it over Antares' shoulder gently, causing the boy to snuggle against demon's firm chest even more, inhaling Claude's scent deeply and then resuming the even pace of his breaths.

The little accident with Dung was entertaining enough. Claude's lips quirked into an amused smirk at the crow demon's peeved expression when the thief had soiled himself. Michaelis had personally gone to deal with the annoyance, leaving Claude an ample time to snuggle with his little fly.

He wanted to thank the smelly idiot for that, truly he did.

Besides, it was an amusing sight watching Michaelis, clad in a white sleeping gown with a sleeping white cap askew on top of his head grabbing the idiot by the scruff of his neck and carrying him our as if Dung were a particularly mangy cur.

In his other hand, Claude twirled the skeleton of a hand whose gnarly fingertips glowed eerily into the night.

 _The Hand of Glory._ An indispensable, almost mythical tool for thieves worldwide and Claude came by one by a sheer dumb luck. Dung's little thieving escapade would have been successful if he tried to rob anyone else. Sadly, the _Hand_ 's little enchantments didn't work on the demonic duo. And now, Claude was the bemused owner of the little thing. Not that he needed it, of course, but it was interesting to note that some of them still existed in modern world.

He made a note to hide this particular memorabilia from his little master in the morning - it wouldn't do that Antares would discover the happenings of that gentle night, after all. Golden eyes, shaded by an eerie gray glow of the Hand of Glory, looked at the sleeping teen fondly.

But until then…he would just enjoy having his little fly in his arms.

With that thought in mind, he placed the creepy skeleton at the side and embraced the youth closer to his chest, relishing the other's steady heartbeat against his skin.

* * *

"What have you done now?" A suspicious glare met the two butlers who looked as if the butter wouldn't met in their mouths when Antares yawned, his eyes a little teary with the force of the yawn, his shoulder-length white hair even messier than usual.

Privately, he had to admit that he never slept better than last night. And thankfully, he was still in his own bed…alone. For some strange reason, that thought caused a small pang in the depth of his gut, but Antares ruthlessly suppressed it.

Both of the butlers standing at the bed's side were already clad in their uniform, looking refreshed from their little snooze-fest on the floor of Antares' bedroom.

 _Too_ rested, in fact.

Antares' eyes narrowed, the contract in his right eye was glowing with a sinister light on the deep emerald background as he hadn't yet had time to find his eyepatch and don it on.

"What makes you think so we have _'done'_ something, Master?" Sebastian was first to quip the question back to their Master, his smile full of daisies and sunshine, making Antares almost cringe at its' cheerful nature.

"You two are a bunch of fucking happy sunshine." He bit back, earning a disapproving "Language, Master!" from the golden-eyed demon closest to him. Antares glared harder. Claude stared back flatly, not willing to admit anything.

"Oh, we just had an excellent resting time." Sebastian's eyes curled into two upside down crescents, making him look like a particularly devious fox as he put his pointer finger to his lips as if keeping a particularly juicy secret. "Up you get, little Master. For breakfast, we have Ceylon tea, egg omelets with vegetable stir fry and a slice of lemon cake for dessert."

"You're avoiding the question." Antares snapped at the smiling demon, his suspicions now very firm about something happening last night and him not knowing about it having been confirmed; it made him even crankier than before.

"Why ever would we do that, Master?" Sebastian almost cooed out, causing Antares' skin break into goosebumps as his eyes widened with dread. Nothing good had come when that stupid crow used that particular kind of voice. Case in point, when Sebastian had brought home a kitten litter…of tiger and lion cubs. Antares didn't even want to know how that had come about (and where _did_ Michaelis found them, anyway?), but suffice to say, he had firmly told him to get the furry menaces back to where he got them from or at least to the appropriate caretakers for their species. The _kuroshitsuji_ had pouted, but acquiesced to his demand. However ever since, Antares was on the lookout for that particular phrase.

"Excuse me for not feeling particularly reassured on the issue." Antares grumbled out, but he let go of the issue… for the moment, causing the two butlers' shoulders to relax infinitesimally.

And with that, it began another day in the Grimmauld 12 for Antares Carruthers and his two demons of butlers.

* * *

**_ To Be Continued _ **


End file.
